barry

barry got shot. down 5th street. we read it in the paper the next morning. at school word was he got between some shady people. got in over his head, as they say. had extra counselors for the grieving. i remember sean and casey being sad. most of the people were. i wasn't. couldn't figure out why. barry was dead and i couldn't care less. summers of camp. pond fishing and rock skipping. me and barry walking the riverbed. but now i couldn't muster a tear for him. couldn't shake a fist. couldn't do nothing. barry got shot. but what about me?

"i figure it's more like dreaming..."

"...slipping away for a spell. being someplace not in the current. truth be told, i'm in no hurry to be saddled with such knowledge. it's not quite priority one. no, sir. but that's not to say we don't think about it. gamble it's something most not care to admit, figure it's more of the private nature. personal. but we do it. 'cause maybe sometimes it's easier, or hastier, or something of the sort. or maybe just too mysterious to leave be. every one person has their own conviction. myself, like i said, i figure it's something like dreaming. and i stir about, keep on going, like maybe nothing really happened. but it's all up here, playing out, the way you conjure it does. but i fancy it a secret, best saved for the end."