Why Don’t We Hang Out More?

I asked Robin this.  He responded with a poem (as poets are likely to do).

Why don’t we hang out

more often, you ask.

You might as well wonder

why the is sky blue.

We’re adults doing weighty

stuff, not kids with time 

for anything, even nothing.

We hang onto its attraction, 

yet doing nothing unimaginable

slips us by, a dancing sparkle

of morning sunlight on the water

we don’t notice, we’re so 

caught up in our to-do-list’s day.

Change the world, not ourselves,

what’s the return in hanging out,

doing nothing, or next to it 

being around each other,

in our homes, you groaning

at my word play, me taking 

your relationship with God

to heart, or at the park catching 

our flashes of letting

go, each of us lighting up 

something about the other we had 

no idea about, or 

just nothing, yeah, seriously, 

zip, who knows hanging out’s 

unearthings? Could

become habit. It’s not as if 

it has to be a moon shot. That orbits

as expectations. Just let us 

be together, seems your point—

not why we should, but what

we’re missing.