To the Ones I Love (please never forget.)

They come in every size and shape, they’re guidos from the Wildwood shore, or big laughing Hawaiians. They come from LA, and they come from Poland. They’re filled with jokes, and they’re deadly serious; They’re human calculators from Calcutta, or they’re hairy Israeli Mexican Druids from Santa-Cruz. They roughhouse and they read books (love fantasy and Sci-Fi!) They stock the dairy shelves and they make me laugh when I’m feeling low; They climb trees and burn money, They’re radical liberal Hippies with flower-eyes and communist dreams, and libertarian conservatives, They’ve married young and they’ve lived alone, They’re Persian bastards Who I truly love, and berserking barbarians when it’s party time in D&D.They are volcanic redheads who are truly insane, and they are pig-tailed men who speak in riddles and rhymes. They speak Ukrainian and they smoke pot. They steal from the rich and give to the poor, They’re reckless and they’re tame, They’re introverts and they’re burglars. Their name is Sclurbs (I don’t know why) and they are farmers and musicians, Metalheads and activists, They’re smartass Stickboys, Who can’t shut up, And Honest G’s, wise and reserved. They’re East Coast Gay Boys, and they love linguine with (white!) clam sauce. They’re loud and they’re proud, they’re quiet and they’re hurt. They’re Raw Power or they’re surfers with trucks, who quietly sip rootbeer on the beach at night; They are thick-headed or loyal (sometimes I don’t know which!) They’re Jewish raccoons who find peace in winter, or metrosexual fashionistas! They’re fiery Cubans (who think they’re Italian) or beautiful Puorto-Ricans, with sun-kissed skin. They love good espresso, and they’re slinking Frenchmen; they are Pokemon masters, and they will marvel at every scene in Blade Runner. They’re Homosexual and straight, and they’re more sensative then they look. They can be brave and they can be scared, but that doesn’t matter. They’re professors and old teachers, your brothers and your Cousins, and they get you into trouble, then get you out; They apologize or they fist-fight, They smoke hand rolled cigarettes and come from Seattle; Drive motorcycles and make damn good cider. They have beautiful hair and lovely eyes, They’ve been to prison, and they’ve got regrets. They’re old and they’re young, they’re Christian and they’re Bokonist, and they’ve brought pizza over to my house every Friday night since I was born. They guard my life, and they take my money on poker night. They are the Children of the Information Generation, who fight spies with gaming-controllers, and they’re outdoorsmen who loathe the screen. They are inward and they are outward, witty and Simple. I’ve known some since kindergarten, and some I’ve just met, They have badass scars and imperfections. They are big Russian freckle-faced sweethearts and Irish comedians looking for that break. They are feminists and they are fierce competitors.They’ll always surprise you, and they’ll never fail you. They fill in the cracks, and they keep you together. They are all different. They help you everyday to grow and learn. They are Friends, and I love every one of them so much I could die for them Without batting an eye. I am blessed.


About marcofreschi

I live in the Ocean and write poetry View all posts by marcofreschi

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