Threads of Lives

By Vincent R. Pozon

I scrolled down the newsfeed of my phone
and walked into a babbling of friends
years spoke for them, retirement was flashed
as badges and permission to whinge.

Gouty fingers misspelled their rancor
they reached for devices upon waking
a frown, a retort before coffee
responding to barbs before breakfast

the ribald before the washbasin
before thanking whichever god
they pray to for the bearable aches
for allowed liquor, for fairish lives.

Once I counted twelve in one thread
friends I knew before Facebook met them
ill-behaved and boisterous as boys
and carping as curmudgeons.

We had talks that shouldn’t be so public
they kid with thorny words, sniggered
about the greying of hearts and loins
they are mulish men with little to lose.

These threads are threads of their lives, perhaps
more truthful, for here they let on without letup
here they live, hobbled maybe, darned
by doctors repeatedly, but whole.

The cheer and temper, entombed in threads
we saw each other infrequently
but here they are, sauntering about
the screen of my phone as promenade.

I can hear the salty chuckles, the plaints
about money and wives, here is soused joy
I will not hear standing by their tombstones!
Here is a thread of dead men talking.