Old Friends
I had a dream a few nights ago
about my old friend Davey.
Haven’t seen him in a thousand
He’s an old friend still. We met at a Seven Eleven
(do they still exist? I hope so) in
Washington, D.C. near P Street.
He was buying bubble gum ice cream.
Chew and swallow is how he described
the flavor’s appeal. Turns out he
went to a Quaker Boarding School
with my roommate Sue. We invited him
to dinner and to make a very
long story very short he married another
roommate named Sheryl. Davey then went
medical school, became a psychiatrist
and then, he and Sheryl got divorced and
each married someone else. Davey moved
to Maine. One day in the pandemic he called
to say hello. We hadn’t talked in at least
twenty years but because old friends are always
old friends we talked for a few hours about
every single thing. Talking, we were younger,
happy the way we were then. Happy now
is a little different. Davey would take us all for
a ride in his old car and we’d drive and drive.
Where we were going didn’t matter at all.
We listened to this millions of times.
Jessica wrote this essay today, inspiring my poem.




Old friends are Special. And I went from To post to cooking dinner with Carol King on Spotify. Thanks for the inspiration.
What a story!
Old Friends, Book Ends.