See a man
who played in a band
with a man
I used to know
inside a CB2
the day before Christmas.

He smells of smoke
and bourbon.
Old friends of mine
turn out
not to be
friends at all.

Not gonna
friend them
on Facebook.
Not gonna
follow them
on Twitter.

Not gonna
romanticize a few
magical nights
followed by years
of self-destruction
and bad poetry anymore.

We’ve all walked
out the door, escaped
up or down
the block.

So the snow
finally begins to fall.