The crepe myrtles are in their prime 

I wonder if they ponder their limited time 

Those popping pink blossoms were just buds yesterday 

They flourish among the green leaves of the branches

I watch them sway 

The background is a light blue sky 

With puffy white-gray clouds 

You know these poems are just me thinking out loud 

A squirrel inches across a tightrope – the power line from the pole to my house 

You texted me last week and said you all are expecting a girl 

I hope she flourishes like the crepe myrtles

Cheery and bright in a world of hurdles 

I count back the years to when we last had a good talk 

Overhead there’s a seahawk

The clouds grow a little more gray 

Like my hair

Yours too by now, probably 

I haven’t been to the ocean yet this summer 

With you, 6 years ago, it was always funner

I guess our youth is over 

You’re probably putting a crib together

Come fall, I’ll send you a tiny sweater

I’m a squirrel on the tight rope 

I slip sometimes but always recover hope 

There was a baby today in the grocery store who let our a scream

I glanced at his mom and just thought I’m glad it’s not me

I just like watching the crepe myrtles 

Will you name her Brooke? Or Taylor?

I’m sorry if I was a failure 

Take her to our old spot 

And teach her to swim 

So long adulthood and into irrevocable aging, my friend

Maybe next time we meet at the ocean the trees will be in bloom 

And maybe she and her family will wheel us out 

Maybe not too soon

We can talk about our doubts

Can squirrels swim? Or do they sink?

Till then, my good friend, you stay pink