Who are my Friends?

I get up,
I get dressed,
I go out:
To DCU,
To the City Centre,
To Barcode,
To Portmarnock,
To Galway,
To Scotland.
I talk to strangers,
I make them laugh,
They enjoy the show.
The next day
I add them on Bebo,
We comment,
And that’s it –
I may see them again,
Once or twice,
But not that often,
While with others,
With people who are,
‘Friends’,
They grow indifferent,
No interest in conversation –
Not even those,
Who I have known all my life.
They all brush me aside,
Years this is going on,
Wondering when it will stop,
‘Cause now I wake up,
Look at myself in the mirror,
And despite my four hundred Bebo friends,
I ask myself every morning,
Who the fuck are my friends?