I Remember

I remember you carried that little knife
for self-defense. No mace for those with
poor boundaries when out in the streets.
Our talks were mostly about food, sports,
a better job than ours. I remember you
had good knowledge about fine wine. You
were well-traveled, a world traveler.
I remember how happy you seemed
when you came back from your trips
as if the grass was always greener where
you went. You always had good snacks
at your desk. You did not like onions.
You would invite me to walk at lunch
breaks. We would sit and talk sometimes.
Without a doubt I enjoyed your company.
Without a doubt you enjoyed mine a little.
I do not know where you are these days.
I remember your name. You don’t know
but that is one of my biggest flaws,
remembering names. I also like onions,
even after they make me cry.