500 days

We live at 500 yards
but we meet on 500 days,
it's a game of chance,
but reeks of connivance.
Both of us have questions,
those are best if they
remain just questions,like
asking "How did it happen?"
at somebody's funeral.
I blabber, you prattle,
pretenses of cordiality,
before I get an urge,
to end this. End this, like
a quick festival greeting,
wished every 500 days.