Do I?

Do I? 

I am attempting to contemplate why you called me

Is there meaning in this action, which on its face would appear to be

Concern in some form attributed to the sentiment of worry

You were awake near midnight allocating some measure of energy  

To me and my well being, sensing that something bad

Was approaching me, like a New Orleans drive-by bullet

Booming from the mal-intent of one’s brain through synapses

To his fingers to shift a trigger generating the mouse-trap propulsion  

Of a bullet to plow through one of my arteries and sponge flesh-bag

Spilling crimson juice across the concrete, this is all possible

And all the more eerie because I was not where I would normally be

I was out; I was with other human beings, discussing the philosophy  

Of such matters of death and longing, triggered by all manner

Of prior inter-workings of the world, which some may refer to

As a moment of clarity at the end of which such transitions into death

Could be rationalized as a proper sequential action  

Since what needed to be said, was apparently said,

Whether it will be remembered or recalled by those continuing to live

Is another matter to be debated in eulogies or editorial letters

However, what you said to me, was, “I was calling to see if you were ok

I felt like something bad was going to happen to you.” 

This feeling, could not be based in any form of what we tend to default to

As our first five senses, given our locations and our lack of correspondence

Truncated by your admitted and announced disdain for my unit of humanity

So it came to somewhat surprise that of all the people in the world,  

Yours is still the only one with a divergent ring tone on my mobile phone

As that you set it yourself to agree with my own selection after fiddling with

Such elections after dining with me after one of my mental health counseling sessions

With a certified professional, not far from your place of residence  

So at this hour of night, I am aware of your choice to attempt to contact me

Before visual confirmation or the octave of your voice to my ear

After all of this, the death, the anger, the correspondence it is my life

That you are worried about in this moment of yours 

I do not know what to make of this

I explained the merits and my own desires to continue our friendship

In prior protest to your condemnation and now, do I ignore, do I speak, do I?