For JLM

Mike Bell/ November 14, 2016/ www.mikebellpoems.com/ 0 comments

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I didn’t know him
very well,
the Frenchman
I first met in ’82,
but he was
as cool as hell,

with a quiet kindness,
a leather jacket,
an accent,
which seemed
so rare:

Who knew
I would next see him
strapped in a chair
with wheels:

None of us command the future.

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