He had been my friend. He died.

I Did Not Go In

   For Ched Neuhaus

I did not go in to see you, Ched

There in your white room

I was told your head had swelled

And color had engulfed you

They exit in tears, seeing you

Hooked up like you had never been

Ched, in your white room

In the paper I learned you left

Before sunrise, without your helmet

I saw your skid mark, and the pole

There is a rumor of foul play

In the ward.  Some debt you had over

Drugs.  So much has changed

Since we were boys

Forgive me for not joining you

I wanted to recall our past

When our lungs filled and fainted

With laughter in the cul de sac

Biking to Jerry’s Liquor for candy

Aba-Zabba contests, watching the fish

As boys do

Remember our slumber parties, Ched?

The living room wrestling matches

With Hoheimer, Burleson, Domke, me, you?

Halloweens—the hiding, running?

And how about the Sandy’s window?

Or the time we fought and the next day

We were friends?

I visited your grave, Ched, and cleared away

Crab grass crawling across your name

It had been ten years since that morning

Yet the sun burned warm above the mountain

And over your plot; we would have laughed

Together like we could not

When you were in your white room