Ambiguity is your friend, she said.
That’s what she told me.
Or he. Hey, who exactly are you?
I’m your friend, he said.
They all want things hammered
down. Get it just so, exactly.
But their minds are flaky.
For the true friend to man is
Ambiguity? I ask. Catching on,
she says with a smile. As we walk
down the street I notice the looks.
They just can’t seem to get us.
They’ve nailed everything down
so something free and lovely
confuses them deeply. But that’s
how ambiguity is. Unless he’s a friend.
If you feel strongly about this poem, leave a comment below!
The original draft for this poem: