a defender of people | poem

poetry

I have this friend named Alistair

and he used to watch me,

stood up there, on the pulpit.

In a corner, hidden by web coverlets,

I felt his stubborn pair of ocean blues, penetrate.

He was younger then, as of now, likely elder.

Perhaps it was his good posture, blondie youth locks?

unquenchable thirst for Li Po’s jug

that gave him boyhood.

His observation was a un…