A thousand years ago,

we were having this conversation,
my friend and our mothers.
Out of nowhere his mom says,
"I’m ready to change the subject.
Let’s move on."

And my polite mother
and the woman’s polite son
were dutifully ready to comply.
I do not comply.

"It doesn’t seem like the conversation has organically ended,"
I reply, "We all seem to have more to say.
I don’t think I’m ready to veer off course."

And, of course, instead of talking about
the old subject
or a new subject
we instead began talking about the subject
of conversations and how they should be altered:
naturally or by one member’s will.

I did not like her bullying.
She did not like my rudeness.
This incident, remember,
was a thousand years ago

and only today did it occur to me
that I might have been too young
to recognize there may have been minefields
in the original conversation
that I could not see

or understand
and she had been too raw
to elegantly navigate changing the subject.

I left no room for elegance
or subtlety.
I rarely do.

I should have addressed this
in my head, at least,
decades ago.

I am sorry for this ancient fight,
my friend’s mom,
if you were hurting
and needed a way out.

If, on the other hand,
you were just being controlling,
I hope you learned something.