Remember? (For Ken)

It's been almost ten years gone by
since the night I met you.........

One night while I was waitressing
third shift
at the local pancake house.
You came in every night
around midnight
to drink a pot of black coffee
and smoke your unfiltered Lucky Strikes.

You took me to my first club
in Providence,
and introduced me to
Ben Folds Five and KMFDM
on your car stereo.
You lent to me your passion for
vampires,
Braveheart,
and Dennis Miller.
(Who you'd impersonate until I
laughed so hard
I'd cry.)
Our shared fascination
for all things goth
and flowing music
kept our friendship going.

You let me weep
over my broken heart.
I let you drink
over yours.

You were nothing but cool
in your ghostrider leather coat and
steel-toed, roach-stomping, black boots.
Nothing but cool
until the day you
coughed up blood in my bathroom sink.
A week later,
while we sat in your car
on an overcast early morning,
you gave me the news
that your doctor had given to you-
LUNG CANCER.
You told me this
with a damn cigarette
in your mouth.
(The irony did not escape me.)

I took the news stoic,
(brave soldier-good friend)
then went upstairs to my apartment
and wept.
How do you respond
when you're eighteen,
and you get the news
that your best friend
is dying?