Hymn on the imaginary friend

You cannot choose an imaginary friend.
He just hangs around because someone knows him,
someone you know, perhaps. He's always been there,
ready to fill up the couch in your living room,
the empty air in your head, picking fleas
off the tongues of other imaginary friends
he made sure you'll have. In fact,

your life depends on him. He's the best
friend you have well at least best for now,
he squats on your couch like a sacred cow
and no one dares move him.

When he finally goes home he finds
all your dirty secrets seeping through the blinds
of his living room that has no furniture of its own.

In spite of that, he's never alone,
the chairs you've been missing,
the dead heart of a neighbor,
the botched heaven of windmills
that resound when he unbuttons his tongue
and makes everyone feel that he belongs.

M.H.Benders