by George Hoerner
One step then another, never thinking how many miles we walked around
those blocks during summer evenings that melted into our minds.
You a year behind me but a mind so far ahead, as I taught you chess
you taught me to read and followed me to Ann Arbor each studying math.
You bounced from that pentagonal building with its levels and game rooms
to the California think tank as I lost myself in Ford playing their games
with computers. We talked once in our 50s then too long a break
and you were gone or was it I, gone with shock from one of many losses.
I see you resting on some cloud chuckling about how you beat me
at chess and bridge while I still play at this game of life.
Author's Note: This is my first attempt at a 'prose poem'. He was my best friend growing up. He was very smart and the kind, like of all of us, that doesn't like to loose. I taught him to play chess when I was 12. At 14 he was North Western Junior Champion and at 21 was the 4th ranked chess player in Michigan. That might not sound like much but there are really only 3 states in the country where there is a lot of chess played and Michigan is #3. We talked our way from teens to adults somehow by walking around a 2 or 3 block area around our homes. He was a great friend.
Posted on 01/25/2009
Copyright © 2023 George Hoerner
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 01/25/09 at 03:44 AM|
I see a success, though prose has eluded me. The story is great...flow is superb, and the end poignant. And...maybe best I can really relate, lost my best buddy of nearly 40 years in May of '07. The stories echo on. Thanks.
|Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 01/25/09 at 04:09 AM|
I definitely think you've nailed something here as well. The story is outstanding.
|Posted by Dave Fitzgerald on 01/26/09 at 04:57 AM|
Great story George
|Posted by Charlie Morgan on 01/26/09 at 06:29 PM|
...george, a classic. loved too your Author Note, especially the last line...too much!
|Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 01/29/09 at 12:39 PM|
George, this is a lovely attempt at prose. speaking of chess, if I were to attempt to make a living playing chess, I would starve, but although I never managed to be a very good player, I became very adept at carving chess sets out of Ivory Soap, rather than playing them.