In Memory of a Friend

He had ‘em awed.
This little old jewish guy
Who planned tours and
Did local theater.
He had ‘em awed.
Look at ‘em in the backyard there,
Drinking, telling stories about – god knows what-
(A show they did or didn’t do)
Then remembering what brought us all together here:
A dramatic silence, maybe a shake of the head
Or a whisper.
(I can’t believe he’s gone.)
Some people will tell you that he was funny.
I thought he was serious.

I wander to the front yard –
My kids are awol;
They have wandered off in a pack
The way kids do at events like this
To some neighbors' yard a safe distance away
Where they can peal off the solemn trappings of death
And play
And laugh without guilt for a little while, anyway.

Someone gets a bag of tomatoes from the trunk of their car for Susie;
An old acquaintance, proud of the many pounds he has lost
Is giving a highly polished account of his life at Fire Island;
Small groups of women take turns hovering around the widow-
that sounds so harsh - around Roz.
They offer the comfort of proximity. We really have nothing else to give.

I rummage through the trash on the floor of my car
Looking for my pda.
In a few minutes I will play guitar with one of his sons- my friend Scott.
We will play autumn leaves:
Stan always loved that.

© Joe Thompson · www.imaginesongs.com

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