Tempus Fugit Poem by Steve Howard

He and I were best of friends,
when we were young and small.
Years ago he'd left his number,
so I gave him a call.
He talked about his marriages,
how his roof leaks when it rains,
how dandelions have claimed the yard,
and how easy carpet stains.
He talked about his children,
Bill and Bob and Sue.
How they never come to see him,
I helped him cry, oh my, boo hoo.
He talked about his aches and pains,
hemorrhoids and rashes too.
How he had almost died last year,
from hangnail and the flu.
I told him I was sorry,
"I wish there was something I could do,
but I think my wife is calling me,
so I'll get back to you."
He and I were best of friends,
when our world was bright and new.
But now he's just a memory,
with a hemorrhoid ortwo.