Anthology

A conversation with you is like Jenga, Easy at first to spot the right thing to say,

“How are you?”
“How is work?”

But as the game continues,
We inwardly tense with each nudge of a topic,

A thought,
A sentence,

Praying I don’t choose the wrong piece,
That you don’t jostle our carefully worded stacking Our tower sways and threatens—

and
We mutually agree to silently slip from the table, Neither one of us able to bear the sound
Of our crumbling friendship’s final demolition.