There is a saying that talk is cheap;
That's because most talk isn't very deep.
The talk about our neighbors and the weather
Is about as valuable to me as a feather.
I prefer talk in which I learn something
And talk that, to my fears, give wing.
I have never been good at small talk,
And from angry words I tend to walk.
Are bits of truth hidden within
Casual words of women, and of men?
Or are words simply a way to kill time
Free of the need for reason or rhyme?
I so look forward to time with dear friends
Where words are usually a means to an end
Of seeing each other all the way to our souls;
When with these friends, I feel more whole.
This cannot be done well in a social setting
Something, we who do lunch, keep forgetting.
Over salads, it's hard to suppress the urge,
Our deepest feelings and thoughts to purge.
When the door has been opened, how do we end,
And once again, into the outside world, blend?
I'm trying to remember that retired friends and I
Now have time together to laugh and to cry.
We no longer have to hold in our true selves
That, for years, we had no time on which to dwell
Months don't have to pass while we live away
Wishing for more time together to have our say.
Now we can parcel out our triumphs and travails,
I hope my sense of urgency will soon pale.