I saw my friend in the waiting room
of the orthopedic surgeon.
We chatted, reminisced.
Stood disappointed how through the years
we had been so busy.
Had not kept in touch.
Age brings old friends together
in doctors’ offices.
He had arthroscopic surgery
on his knee
and now needed a lubricant,
which would come from an injection
from the comb, of the crown, of a rooster.
I asked him if he did not feel bad,
to use our fine feathered friend
in that way.
Seemed politically incorrect.
We both chuckled.
I knew that in a few hours
at Boston Market
I would use whatever portions
he had not taken.
Ray Brown
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