A Letter to My Best Friend

You’re not my one best friend, there’s a few
but when I hear the phrase, I think first of you.

I don’t know why you first, more than others.
It grew quite slowly, as with some lovers,

from the fan letter you sent me decades ago
to no-holds-barred confidante and truth-teller now.

‘We get each other at very deep levels’, that’s true —
as you once told someone who thought I was being rude

(I was) and that you needed a champion to strike me dead.
Whereas when you offer to smack me upside the head

at times when I appear to be self-destructive,
at least you’ve got enough sense not to say it in public.

But I can shoot off my mouth to the rest of ‘em too
and they me and we know how we mean it; it isn't just you.

We’ve got almost everything in common.
So I have with the others, both men and women.

Perhaps the reason is geographical.
We see each other seldom, only on sabbatical,

which might make it easier to get on with each other.
Yet the rest are scattered as far, and further.

We’re both writers and we communicate in writing —
is that it? No, don’t get excited.

You guessed it, the rest of that special few
mostly happen to be writers too.

So I don’t know what makes you especially special.
I guess I’m just irrationally partial.


(Day 1 - Your Best Friend)