The Friend Who Breaks Glass
It's eleven in the Friday evening
and the calm whisper of a long week is
broken by his reality's sharp call.
Perhaps with some reluctance or perhaps
all too easily the glass is broken.
In the former case reaching sooner for
that lifeline would have been better for all
--more convenient with better expected
outcomes. Hopefully it is not too late.
In the latter case it is yet again
this panicked alarm is being sounded.
It makes no difference. The need's real
even if the timing isn't opportune
or the actual danger that acute.
He isn't the best option nor the only.
He cannot entirely fix the problem
--just a means to hoped-for solutions.
Whether he supplies a bandage or yields
a true fix is not really the point.
His role in this act of a many-act play
has been cast, and he's not just another
available actor. He's THE performer.
For him there is nothing of this that is
obligatory. This is not duty
as much as it is simply who he is.
He won't even cuss you as he slowly
tamps out his cigar, throws out his whiskey's
last swallow, grabs his coat, and starts his car.
On his way, and he'd have it no other.Discussion about this post
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