My loyal old friend

Is an ignorant lout.

I no longer attempt

To read him my poems.

When we meet for lunch,

He devours the basket

Of warm bread,

Before the meal arrives,

Chewing loudly,

With his mouth open.

But, I must leave words

Unsaid, that are ambiguous

Or obscure, or as difficult

To decipher as the neumes

Of Byzantine music,

Or risk destroying a friendship.