1.How many times must we forgive, unforgivable conduct?
George Harrison seems to have forgiven Eric Clapton
for stealing his wife.
Now Clapton is leading an insane stand
against vaccine mandates.
Yeah,
Layla is a great song,
but . . .
I’ll let you write the next and maybe the last
line.
2. I Find That I Am
… somewhat estranged,
from some much beloved
friends, including some author pals
whose work I once admired
and maybe still would
if I read them anymore.
I’m not sure how this
split came about.
Probably
in part
by my inability to
censor myself
when it comes
to gossip about
pals/competitors.
My habit of making
snarky remarks about them:
“Oh him. He’s nuts right?”
“Oh her, good lord,
she’s gotten big as a house!”
And as much as I’ve always
tried to think of
other writers as
colleagues and friends,
it was always the case
that we lied to one another
quite a little bit
about how fabulously
our careers were going:
“So much income,
such vast praise,
so many speaking invitations
for top-$ fees,
oh-my-goodness
things are going
SOOOOO fuckin’ well!!!!!”
For the most part,
the only authors
I could be honest
with were those
I knew were suffering
at least as badly
as I was.
But come to think of it
that’s not even true.
The only ones I could keep loving
are the ones I felt
still loved me,
and even then,
that was an iffy proposition,
I mean, how come they never call
or return my calls?
This poem
is kind of an apology
to all of my
estranged writer friends,
whether they have noticed
that I’m
gone from their lives or not.
I know that
Covid, shutting down
lots of career options
and speaking gigs
($-making opportunities)
didn’t help us stay close
but truth be told
This shit was going to happen
and happening already
anyway.
Friendships change over time
including the changes called
being over.