Josh, I Miss You.

The Listener

A dim overhead light illuminates two men; old friends, seated at a wooden bar. Only their faces and their hands can be seen. The hands and faces are not of two young men; nor two elderly men  either. The man seated on the left wears a ballcap and a mischievous smile. The man on the right has somewhat unkempt hair and does not smile but speaks to the other who only listens, nods and occasionally smiles. 

They carry on this way for a while but the pattern of exchange does not change; The man on the right speaks, the man on the left listens. The man on the right seems eager to say all that he must as though their time is short. In fact he knows it is short and whatever is left unsaid now can never be said again. He asks no questions of the man on the right and both seems to understand why; though as of yet the reason remains unspoken. 

The words so far are whispered, quiet; forgotten as they are spoken.  The man on the right finally seems to exhaust all that he has come to say and looks at the man on the left whose smile has left his face only now as the conversation comes to a close. 

Later, the man on the right strains to remember any detail of his talk, wondering what those many words could have been. He cannot recall any; save a single question. To the man on the left he asked, "I know you are dying but can you beat it?" The man on the left did not answer but only hung his head and placing his hand on the hand of the the man on the right; consoled him as he cried; cried the tears that would not come in the waking world but flowed real enough; in a dream.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/85zmkq/hit_me_with_your_best_shot/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/86edkd/the_devoted_bee/