By Bobbi Dykema Katsanis
Perhaps I am the only soul on earth
who finds the art of making friends
a mystifying secret.
People terrify me.
I can�t imagine
what they must think of me.
(In fact I can. I�d rather not.)
Much easier to hold them at arm�s length,
wonder obliviously
why no one likes me.
Much simpler to be odd and unattractive,
just blame them. They�re shallow anyway,
who needs them?
Still, I would like to have a friend.
And so, I make a friend
of toads, of apple blossoms, of spring rain.
It doesn�t last.
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