worn path

we all knew that

he was secretly gay

as in

he had girlfriends

slept with women

in relationships that never lasted

amounted to much

not that any of that

bothered us

we were happy

to hang out with the guy

go drinking

did the shit that friends do

because we were fond of him

& yes

we’d offer openings to draw

help him we thought

come out

but no

the girls beat a worn path

to his door

only to leave disappointed

after maybe a month

if that

& we loved him more

when he could

no longer live like that

who?

had I become

shrouded in memories

haunted by the you’s

of sordid histories

chances taken

squandered

openings disregarded

wilfully missed

to sit here alone

in an old coat

pockets with holes

bare table but for a bottle

sipping on something

to make that last

knowing nothing

ever does

but the eternal of

why?

what?

when?

joined now by

whatever