I liked the patches <br />on the back of your jeans, <br />and almost before I knew it, <br />we were together. <br /> <br />That was 1971. <br />November 10 still never passes <br />without my remembering it's your birthday <br /> <br />even though at the time <br />I thought I might be just in it for the lust <br />that was driving me crazy; <br />even though I was on anti-depressants; <br />even though walking to the bank <br />in South Bend in the winter sun <br />the morning after our first night, <br />I realized I had no idea how to live. <br /> <br />I have the picture of you <br />and your 2 year-old cherub, <br />lovely madonna and child, <br />he's almost middle-aged now. <br /> <br />Gifts you gave me still endure, <br />even material ones, <br />the Judy Collins Songbook <br />and the antique candle-holder Mom has. <br /> <br />Saw you in the early '90s <br />driving through there, <br />we met for breakfast, <br />you looked great. <br /> <br />I wrote you afterward, <br />you never replied, <br />but at least you knew how I felt. <br /> <br />That night in San Mateo <br />when I made you get out <br />to catch your plane, <br />of course I didn't want to do it. <br />Took me a year and a half <br />to come out of the depression <br />after stopping the pills <br />because on them I felt <br />I couldn't really be there for you. <br /> <br />If I'd been a lot more myself, <br />who knows? But every year <br />like clockwork, November 10, <br />I remember.<br /><br />Max Reif<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/happy-birthday-nikki/
