Hey, remember that guy?
You know, the one you shared an office with,
The one you antagonised at first
But with whom you became,
If not friends,
Then friendly. No, more than that,
Fellow travellers, right?
You had the same number of kids.
He smoked too.
Liked to make things out of wood
But didn’t like to share too deeply.
Kept his work and private life
But you were, probably, the closest thing he had to a friend.
You smiled, shook hands whenever you met;
Which was often.
“Good morning, my dear”
You liked one another.
Shared a comical cynicism
And a stupid belief in truth and goodness,
Though he was Belgian.
He retired early, only 55.
Fat pension and a nice payoff.
Wanted to start afresh with his wife,
Maybe move back to Argentina.
See the pampas again.
Make beautiful things.
One month after he left work.
Just stopped living.
Switched off one day.
If god only takes the good ones early,
Is it wrong to hope I’m bad?