Poem: Freezing Rain

This is the second poem for this week. For the first and info on this week’s quote, make sure to check out my poem, The Village.

Freezing Rain

We met at 12,

both in age and in time.

Seventh grade, science class,

period 6, just after lunch.

We were friends right away,

never a fight between us.

We enjoyed every day,

except riding that shitty bus.

You told me you had AIDS,

born with it, you said.

Took your mother’s life,

and your father, he just left.

I assured you it was fine,

that I’d never hate who you were.

You shook my hand, you said,

“It’s great to have a friend.”

Two years passed us,

flying right on by.

Each good day getting better,

each great day refusing to die.

But you got sicker,

“Just a small thing, no biggie,” you said.

The doctors disagreed,

but I trusted you over the eggheads.

But you got even worse,

stayed in that hospital for days.

I asked if you’d be okay to see the fireworks,

and you promised, “I’ll be out in a few days.”

But that longest day came,

and you got no better.

They called me to the hospital,

and told me, “Be ready.”

So I ran, through freezing rain and darkness,

to your little hospital room.

Barely alive, you grabbed my hand,

told me to listen closely.

And just before your last few moments,

reminded me who I was.

And you were gone.