Xavier

It's like a dream every
Time I see him on the corner
Of 5th. He won't remember;
No, he might
Things that pass by my
Thoughts as I get closer.
We were friends
In junior high; I played violin,
He the viola--
He was quiet and more serious
About life than I was
For some reason. He
Often had a bruise,
Or even cuts, whenever
I noticed, and had a
Very sad look in his
Eyes like he needed
To cry.
One night, I came to
His house to return
A hat he left behind
On the bus; then
I heard the lashes, bumping
Walls, and him screaming
For mercy. I had to run
Away and hide.
To this day, my regret
Haunts me as I
Approach him to say,
"Hey, remember me?"
Maybe things will go back
To happier times.
But this is three years later,
And my dear friend
Is a drug whore on
The corner of
5th. He smokes his cigarette,
Glances at me, then turns
His eyes back to work.
It's too late for any
Condolences; so I just
Pass by.