How Buddy Left Me

How Buddy Left Me

by Jack Fritscher

Some men can melt my heart
like Buck’s boy Buddy from Butte,
wearing in the city
Montana boots and flannel shirts
smelling of soap and of himself:
curly, bearded, brooding,
all peace, love, and granola;
changing
to army surplus greens,
clipped to urban crewcut,
parted by pot away from me and Buck,
who wasn’t much for touch anyway,
back in Butte,
where sons ride shotgun
in dad’s pickup truck;
potted off in peace-less pieces,
granola gone, oh Buddy, on grass and acid,
and one night,
springing off the jump-seat of my Jeep,
snagging his green nylon Marine jumpsuit,
snagging what? Love?
With no end to the beginning
and no door slamming closed.
Somehow suddenly
we just let it go.