My Dear Friend

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She is the best of friends
She is the most inconsiderate of friends

She texts me at 7:30 in the morning
(An ungodly early hour)
To tell me good morning
Or send me a terrific video on YouTube

If I'm lucky, I sleep through it
Or I'll have remembered to turn my ringer off
If I'm not so lucky
I wake up, reach over, and read/listen to the damn thing

The worst is her whining
About her mother, who can do no right
Or life in general
Of which she is a terminal victim
Her voice rises in pitch
And she repeats herself constantly

When she's in a good mood
She talks fast and in a high pitch|
And she doesn't repeat herself.

She is easy with the compliments
She insults herself gently
And makes it funny.

When she and her mother are getting along
It's nice to be around them
But when they are fighting
It's worse than the worst cliche
They attack each other like two rams competing to rut
Their horns locking as they try to pull apart.

She is the best of friends
She is the most difficult of friends.

 

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