Cold Friends
Eric Bonholtzer
Two spiked wheels hang upon the nail
A saline trickle drips down parchment
With the curl of a lip and
a glint, a grin, a cigarette for better times
Against parched lips
An open flame, a hearth against the white
lakes of sky marring the mood
Lucky, he thinks as a brand set against a carved table
Out a window the snow was quick in coming
And a bitter draught at the back of his throat
For a friend so cold.
