Your hidden pineapple

We used to be so close. We spent Thanksgivings together. I let you borrow my car during the bus strike that summer. You loaned me your Red Rose Tea Wade figurines to complete my independent film.

I may never know what happened. Your silence baffles me. Today I was walking to work, and saw a top headline at the newsstand: “Tax plan requires more thought.” Doesn’t that say it all?

Besides repeating that headline, what I’d say to you—if you’d only listen—is that the mulch you used on the garden last fall is like the groundcover that is smothering our relationship. Or the other way around.

When I met you, it was as if I had found a treasure that I’d lost long before. And every day I’ve tried to recover that treasure. I take my spade and I dig, and I dig. But uncover nothing. Not even your hidden pineapple. Because it’s hidden.