To My 84-Year-old Neighbor

​

Dear Cynthia,
I would love to go with you to Falmouth on Friday, but I can’t. I have to write.
I would love to go to Falmouth with you on Friday, but I have to write on Friday.
I have to write on Friday because writing will free me.
I would love to feel free enough to go with you to Falmouth on Friday,  
flee February, the island, see all those big box stores,
Walmart, Staples, Petco –what a thrill after February on this forsaken island;
We would eat lunch, talk -- mostly about me –.
I would love to go with you to Falmouth on Friday,
sit across from you on the Quickwater,
watch waves splash at eye level,
cling to my seat, to you,
fixate on your fuzzy curls,
linger over the length of you,
long and leggy in loose slacks,
your lanky self.
I luxuriate in your kindness,
tallness, the towering strength of you,
your big great open heart.
You called me ferocious Fran
You know me. I love you.
Oh Cynthia, if I were free, I would love to go with you to Falmouth on Friday
If I were free, I would go.
#