I had popped some amphetamines with my morning coffee, smoked a joint to take the edge off and snorted several lines of cocaine so that I wouldn’t get stupid. After all, this was going to be a busy morning and I needed all my wits about me. There was meat to be portioned, dough to be kneaded, veg to be chopped, mushrooms to be simmered, tomato sauce to concoct and garlic bread, Jesus fucking Christ, garlic bread to be sliced, buttered, stuffed with cheese, wrapped in foil and placed in bins of 36 and the fucking garlic wasn’t even chopped yet when the back doorbell rang. I didn’t have time for whatever the fuck this shit was commanding my attention at the ass end of the restaurant. There was prep to be done, lunch customers to be fed, irresponsible pot headed waitresses to contend with, a jagoff night manager who was desperately begging to be chewed a new asshole and don’t get me started on that son of a bitch head line cook on the night shift. That useless bastard can still to this day kiss the hell out of my fucking ass. Not that I was bitter or anything…..

But I digress….

I opened the delivery door and see standing silhouetted in early morning rays, this….. dude, this big, taller than me, goofy, smiling and happy as shit, skinny as a pipe cleaner (weren’t we all back then?) dude and he opens his way too cheerful pie hole in my general direction and says ‘Hi, I’m Jeff. I’m supposed to come in and help you today. Tomorrow too.’ Come the fuck on in and grab your damn self an apron, I thought. It’s not like I’m overwhelmed or anything.

At this moment, my illicit drug intake was at an all-time high. My father lay in the hospital, suffering from a series of massive strokes, vacillated in and out of ICU for what was now going on four months. My mother, every day upon my return home, was an emotional wreck. Her former mindless unintentional cruelties had since turned to tearful pleas for me to not move out and leave her alone. I was 17. I remember those days like it was last week and I still sometimes fall to pieces recalling it all in spite of the fact that it was over thirty years ago, I sit at the keyboard misting up as I type.

Much metaphorical water has passed beneath the proverbial bridge since then. Births of the innocents, passings of the ancestors, weddings of much promise, unjustified damnable illnesses, much regretted divorce, decreasing of hairlines, increasing of waistlines and other unavoidable fluctuations of fortune. Amidst the pereniality of change that befalls us all, some things remain constant. The increasing gratitude I nurture for his priceless friendship and the invincibility of his sense of humor seem to be at the forefront.

The poem that follows is self-explanatory. What does however seem to continue to befuddle, at least for me, is what I have done to deserve such a blessing as to continue to receive his friendship and presence in my life.

I was in the process

of answering emails

when he called

the doctor said

it’s cancer again

radical treatments

he would undergo

in order to prevail

and my heart broke

silently

tones of reassurance

passed my lips

until I hung

the thousand pound phone

the hell up

then I collapsed

at the injustice

poor timing

of the powers that be

the unreality

of his next battle

warrior of him

that set forth

a spirit

of invincible humor

when I thought

I would drown

in my depression, anxiety

and self loathing

he threw me a rope

a laugh

at a charmed moment

and saved me from suicide

that I will never forget

or be able to repay

I have found such solace

in his friendship

this son of a bitch

who saved me

from my own hand

more times

than he will know

I said my prayers

worked my voodoo

and filled my wineglass

with tears

of joy, sorrow and gratitude

for my friend

that the old me

would say

I don’t deserve

Thank you for reading,

It means more than you know.

I wish for you all a friend as great as he has been for me and continues to be.

All my love always,

Max