Undressing An Old Address Book

In a drawer full of pencils In my roll top desk Like a graveyard of memories Headstones marked by an old address book Whose pages were worn From the turning of time My own scribbling looks strangely unfamiliar A handwriting riddled with faded faces Distant places and dreams I used to know I decided to draw lines Through those who had died Either by natural causes Or by cause and effect... I had carried this collection of names In cloth clutches, knapsack, satchels And fine Italian leather purses Decades spent securing a way to keep them close Send a card, drop a line, acknowledge a birthday Maybe have them accept a collect call (in the middle of the night) Only to have them stare back at me On a lonely night in April After hearing a friend is not doing well Remembering how strong and virile Our young bodies used to be Before we played too hard, too rough And waved goodbye too many times And waved goodbye too many times And waved goodbye too many times...