Endings
 
So then I said, “You can’t be serious.”
Gently, don’t want to offend.
But you are offended anyway.
You turn away, face flushed, teeth clenched.
 
We walk on in silence,
our morning stroll soured,
leaf litter crunching underfoot
releasing the musky scent of fall.
Friendship, like autumn, drifts inexorably

toward winter.

Pamela Jessen

If you have any thoughts on this poem,  Pamela Jessen would be pleased to hear them.