Quisling

Hey Chris,
The first time I saw the term
was flipping through that enormous dictionary
that we asked for as a Christmas present.
I even chose it as the title
for a poem I wrote about a traitor.
It still remains one of my favorites.
Never thought that I would have
a chance to use that term in life.
So you, my quisling, how did it come to this?
Where did you learn the fine art
of betrayal?
There was a point six years ago
when we realized what we were destined for.
But did your career teach you
or was it the company you kept?
Each month stretches longer as I wait
for some form of apology from you
but I never seem to get it.
Do you? Get it? Is there any hope
for my quisling? Too many days
went dashing to the ground
as I counted the hours, the minutes,
yet the phone never rang. The inbox never filled.
I was surprised. You always liked emails.
Now not even a text. That much fame can't give.
See, I hold tight to that pinky promise we made.
The one that declared friends for life, no matter
the paths we walk. You told me you would
invite me to your first party. Let me visit your first
house in Beverly Hills. Never saw it. Still waiting.
I'm missing you much. Truly.
Pinky promises. They're binding. Or so I thought.
I'll be seeing you on the glare of my TV screen.

Your bestest of friends.


--MovingGirl