Still getting caught up after Thanksgiving, so here’s a quick poem from the unpublished pile —
My Nemesis
I don’t know why
we didn’t get along.
But all through high school
he was there.
He drew mustaches on my baseball cards.
In music class when we were supposed to be singing
he harassed me.
In basketball practice
he mocked me.
Why?
Ask him.
But you can’t.
He died of a heart defect at age 22.
I am now 70
and all I feel is sadness.