Walking, Past Midnight

by Ted Kooser

I lean on the wind and the wind leans on me.
We throw our arms around each other,
trying to stay upright, old drinking buddies,
stumbling toward the next good time,
just as it always was with my friend, Warren,
dead for more than twenty years, who now
leans in to emphasize some point
by jabbing my heart with his bony finger.