Prove It Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

'What a nice guy',
were the thoughts
that hung around
my early morning
cobwebs of denial.

I had been getting
out from somewhere
(near the Black Hole,
perhaps) , fragments
of meaningfulness.

It seemed to be about
another human being,
really, come to think
about those persons,
most likely best kept
in the back of mind
due to their insignificance.

This was, for unknown
also logical consideration
a tad recalcitrant,
as far as thoughts would go
in twilight hours, Jesus,
why the bother now
and what the hell?

The answer came
with clarity, the sandman
and his quartzy grains
had left, and here it was.

A clash of spirits in the past
so reminiscent of two rams,
(New Hampshires have
the toughest skulls) ,
it must be said, today,
adrenalin did surely flow,
and wits were measured in
total extent of damage,
as if inflicting it would fix
what public ego had created.

Yet all that time it had been clear
to me that there appeared to be
a visible opponent made of
what was home to me and would
forever thus remain, a coat,
though not of arms but of a nature
that had been nourishing both souls,
unasked and unappreciated.

It had been easy to regard this foe
as just an equal in some way
who thus became a worthy one,
to be, but grudgingly, respected,
yet I would never once forget
that enemies were always that
and that was, as they say, just that.

Then in the end it had been him
who laid his cards upon my table,
cards which were worn somewhat
but all had honest symbols, engraved,
and numbers with their own noblesse.

And when the shuffling was concluded
he showed the unexpected grace
to state his business, which was with me.
We shook and knew we never would
again perceive the need to prove a thing.