Last Play In An Ambience Easy

It was the last summer together
before we went our different ways –
the last play in an ambience easy,
a sultry laziness of days merged
without punctuation.

We were boys grown but not yet
men; to say of us we knew our
futures, or that we had great and
churning ambition would create
hilarity – it was the wrong expression.

I cared more for music of the
spheres than strictures of virtuous
learning. We shared a last cigarette,
swore on a dying oath that our
friendship would never end;

the girl I thought I loved told me
she would wait in tears. It wasn’t
an actual ending. In the dawn
of a new day we left –
never to meet that way again.
© I. D. Carswell 2007-01-22