A Narrow Fellow

We ate almost daily in the same café.
You were lonely and wanted to be chums.
I was in my sixtieth Year of Caution phase,
and you were a bit more forward than I liked,
which made me hiss and coil all the tighter.
Years later I saw you on the street, just as I
was slipping into my own lonesome phase.
I hollered “Hallo!” and you quickly turned away.
Today I’m in my waning phase, holed up inside
my den, nursing frailties, unable to mend,
shucking my snake-skin one last time before
my scales disintegrate. I showed you how cold
our warming world could be, and wonder now
why it was so hard for me to be a friend.

Caleb Murdock

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Caleb Murdock would like to hear them.