he

he was the boy with the fast walk
the fast talk
the dirty pants
the thoughtless hair
the digesting eyes
the communist patch on his left shoulder
      the boy waiting for a revolution

he was the friend of a friend
at the other end
                         of the couch that seemed to extend for miles
   or maybe it was just the space in between that made it so ...

he was the boy with the bottles
the boy with the books
the boy beside the other ones,
   falling into rank
   but not exactly falling into line;
       shorter than his fellow soldiers
       but holding higher cards.
           and I had not heard many words but the few I overheard I held in high regards.
he was the caulked expedient
ah
the perfect ingredient.

I wish I could have seen it coming.