Across the Creek

We stood across the creek from each other
Chatting about this, that and the other.
He cracked some jokes, his imprimatur.
Suddenly he bolted acting quite immature.
Why? A friend stopped by for a chat.
The joker saw him; the friend filled me in on the spat.
We are old enough to know better than that
— fighting like fifth graders or dogs and cats.
But not really. Our egos get bruised
And we find a fight hard to refuse.
We’ll give each other the silent treatment
Expecting the other to apologize any moment,
But moments turn to days, months and years.
What is it exactly that we have to fear
In breaking the silence and admitting accounts in arrears?
What’s that about pride and falling?
Shouldn’t we follow our vocare, our calling,
To ask for forgiveness and be forgiving,
To swallow hard and start reconciled living?
In the moment its easy for me to say.
Out of this fight I’m just trying to stay.

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