Friday poem: "Solely Present"
I watched him as we spoke, he was not here. Not metaphysically at least. His mind kept drifting away to a different place or perhaps a different time. I could roust him from his internal musings just long enough to get a grunt or a shake of his shaven head. I banked my rising anger, cooling the flames of rage, as I realized; who was I to keep him in the present when true happiness for him lay elsewhere? -Martin Boughner