My
forehead creased with

pride,
flashing the figures
in my head, each digit crunched in a
bowl but
a misstep sogged them all
on the board we used
to endure.

Had you done nothing,
never said, I'd still grit teeth, still
windmill worries like Quixote's, knocked
of common sense. Tuesday's when
it counted the most, I had a friend.

© Mav P.