at 9:04

It was the last image
I expected
long legs reciting hello old friend
when I opened the mail at 9:03.

I remember it like it was yesterday.
It was the day before.
And when I stubbed my pinkie toe at 9:04
shutting the front door,
I yelled not from throbbing pain but from
the unexpectedness.

Of that.
Of you.

And all I could do was fall back to 
hairbands and conversation.

Good day
Good night
Good dear friend.