Don’t forget my music
My wife reminds me
As I leave for the pharmacy,
And I know that she
Means medicine.
Decades of faces
Lifted, lost, returned,
Brittle bones in bits,
Mended, the kettle setting
A colder stove,
The wind a shoeless
Thief we leave our key.
The elm tree forgets
The color of our hair,
The melody of our dreams
The wind strums on its cloak.
The puissant dust of
Our thoughts turned rust,
One last note played
Before the robbing of
Another song’s day.
Did I say medicine, she asks
As I kiss her cheek and
Reach for the key fob.
Yes, I baritone, of course.