A Friend

When I sat next to him
He always took up too much room
And he could never sit still.
"Impertinent" he called me and
His sharp finger poked at me
Stirring me into indignant defence.
A colleague.

This all happened in the mind of course
For that is the world he inhabited.
He was a traffic director
In the city of good ideas.
He looked always for the clear thought,
The pertinent word.
A scholar.

But now the seat beside me
Is empty.
The space seems huge.
And a cold wind chills me
As I sit undisturbed
In the silence
Without that restless spirit.
A friend.