Be Proud

We met in Ms. Glauber's writing class,

You gave me good advice on my story,

Less Mary Tyler Moore, less laughing gas,

More Margaret Atwood, more sad, more gory.



The last time I saw you for thirty years,

Was your party with Karen in New York,

We argued interest rates, drank green-glassed beers,

You pulled me to your side with gentle torque.



The last few years you listened to my rants,

"Ethics must fight, like religion!" I said,

You spoke of rocks and love and time and chance,

You calmed the disprit voices in my head.



A final word, my friend.   My head is bowed.

You're wonderful and loved.  In death be proud.