Two Old Lads Poem by Francie Lynch

This is the last summer.
Two lads of thirteen sauntered past;
One in barefoot with a backpack;
One in khaki shorts, with shoes and black socks
Over bloated calves.
One athletic, lean and gearing;
One more leaning towards academia.
Both waiting to enter high school.

They met in JK. I know their friendship well.
They slept on their towels, in their tents,
At each other's house on weekends.
They served together, lived as one;
Their mothers loved them as sons.
That's how close they'd become.
Their worlds will change,
Once this season's done.

One will be the talk of his circle,
The other, the talk of his;
But there's a Venn where the rings entwined
Before they turned thirteen.
Their hybrid youth,
Their cloned friendship,
Their memories there are mined.

Years ahead,
Around fires and bells,
Or just languishing on a porch;
They'll dig up those old friendship moments
Of the other when they were young.
Buried treasures relived in days of leisure,
But without the other one.