You friended us, Jesus, and we clicked “like”
and you said meet me Thursday at the Ocotillo Pub

we had a few beers and played darts
and bullshitted about our conquests and glory days

until you told us what your embodied friending
exacts of us, of yourself:

The non-virtual friend lays down real life
like combat buddies on the front line

the one who hurtles to take the bullet
the one who treads the mine field first

or in the battlefield of the warring soul
who listens to the lacerations without flinching

who puts down his smartphone distractions
and removes the taciturn armor of self-protection

who prods your sore spots until you curse
and admit that bandages have not healed

and bro hugs you strong until you both know
you’re going to weep on each other’s shoulder

and throw another dart or two drinking Trappist brew
hanging out until they say: last call.

You’re gone now, friend, but we still go to the pub
limping along like Jacob from our old injuries

slaking our thirst in good company, befriending
strangers with gaping wounds, raising a glass to you.


  1. This was the post I had been searching for. So glad I found it. I would like to post a direct link to it from my FB page so as to share it will all of my pals. If that is agreeable to you?


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