My Best Mate

He can be argumentative and arrogant
but he is not bellicose, though adamant
Confrontational, perhaps, but not cruel;
he’d never challenge anyone to a duel.
Is he docile, domesticated? No, not he.
Those adjectives are more suited to me.
He’s earnest by nature and Ernest by name
and treats friends and foes just the same.
I am talking, of course, of my best mate.
We are chalk and cheese, yet we can relate.
He is expansive, expressive and eloquent
but forgetful when it’s time to pay the rent.
If you just allow me a few extra minutes
I am sure to come up with more attributes.
Oh, yes. I always found him to be generous,
hilariously histrionic, even humorous.
He may be insensitive, especially if irate,
but he’s been judicious and jolly, of late.
In turn, he can be keen or lecherous or lazy
and these changing moods drive me crazy.
Not the marrying kind, but that is natural:
he was dumped twice, he can’t be neutral.
Obstreperous, obstinate? Yes, I have to admit.
And procrastinating, pacific, prolific, also fit.
Not forgetting pedantic, quixotic and quaint.
As for queer, I’m absolutely sure that he ain’t.
We correspond fairly regularly, as one must,
thus our friendship will always stay robust.
I am rather sedentary, not a travelling man,
and so of necessity we visit when we can.
It’s not that I am unwilling to see my old pal,
but he lives in Venice, near the Grand Canal.
It is of vital importance that we don’t lose touch
or our camaraderie will not count for much.
They call me a wise old man. Yet I wonder why.
I feel like a young nipper, vulnerable and shy.
I am not xenophobic, there’s no excuse for hate;
after all we are foreigners, both me and my mate.
I have a yearning desire to be clever and brainy
but I am greatly amused by those who are zany.

© Luigi Pagano