Dear Frank

You’ve been dead 6 years.
What, you can’t call?
Can’t write? Can’t
knock in the middle
of night? Come on,
man. Bro, I need a
hand, some consolation.
You hear me? Will
you meet me on that
bright hill, Brother?
A hug for posterity?
One last laugh before
the hammer falls? I
know you can do it,
Frank. This favor is
all I’ve ever asked
for. Greet me one last
time at the crossroads.
Don’t let me weep
alone in this darkness.

Paul Lojeski was born and raised in Lakewood, Ohio. His poetry has appeared online and in print. He lives in Port Jefferson, NY.