On Matthew Perry’s Passing

Friends die. It takes a while,
more than the summer of this life,
to realise the verity we knew.

Almost Halloween, the moon waning,
half a life, candied, decays the other half.
No urge to stroll a mile laden with leaves, 
to step in a café at the centre 
of your memory’s city and to see no face
you know, the bodies you left wearing
something new, laughter rolling, shadows, 
and the seats now in Vogue tides through. 

Better yet, stay on the couch, hear
the retro clapping in the backdrop
of a sitcom, spill some icecream soup
or stale caffeine made following a net recipe.



Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor

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