A Guy I Trust

is one I grew up with.

One who's always there,

weekdays at four,

after I'm home from tennis practice.

He's never missed a day, doesn't show up late.

Comes with cards on my birthday,

graduation gifts, unexpected and generous.

Drops by just to say "best wishes," "good luck,"

"I'm here."

He only shares what's real

or written in permanent ink,

like the time he confessed I'm not going to the college I was planning,

my speeding ticket costs more than I was expecting.

He didn't even try to hide the bill from the other apartment they'd been renting.

 

He'll come back,

even if I don't acknowledge him one day.

Knows I'm not in the mood, mad about practice.

Knows it's not personal, knows I need him like

 

the summer I was stuck at home working,

he brought me postcards from friends on the road, so I could be there, too.

 

And there were other good things, like

care packages and invitations,

thank you notes and holiday cards,

sent back and forth through the rise and descend of a little, red flag.

So, even if I don't always like what he's left at the end of my driveway,

you have to trust a guy, who delivers the truth,

good, bad or whatever's happening that day.