The funeral director—a friend—offers clients’ regrets
as anecdotes to support his opinion your stubbornness
isn’t serving you. You don’t hear it, won’t; instead, turn
to other folks and sing, playfully, partially, “Thank you
for being my friend,” even though they may not all be.
Later, your wet face won’t dry. You think of the hike
earlier described to you, a waterfall in unrelenting rain.
Still, a place worth getting to. Despite red clay ruining
four sets of shoes, creating new costs. That was the part
that had bummed them out, not love for the old ones.