Bill

We sit and talk, old Bill, and I

In truth, Bill talks, and I just listen

A vacuous, wayward slew of words

A rambling rant without remission

But this is Bill’s last shift

And I must grant as soft a landing

As is still, within my gift

He boasts of his accomplishments

Of great success, In love and war

A man admired by all his peers

A loyal friend, and furthermore

The things he could have been:

Had his plans not been thwarted due to

circumstances, unforeseen

These anecdotes belie the fact

That Bill made choices, far from wise

And he became, if truth were told

The kind of man that most despise

But I just nod and smile

Bill’s too far gone to recognise

He’s in complete denial

He simply never made the grade

As husband, father, friend, or sage

And so, his story’s been re-written

Fabricated, page by page

A sleazy work of fiction

To vindicate his time on earth

A weasel’s valediction

But it would surely be remiss

Of me to deconstruct this tale

What good could ever come from

disabusing one who seems so frail?

Let kindness win the day

And leave him feeling heartened that

he chanced to pass my way