I imagine you in your office,
Your pointy, bookkeeper’s head,
Not a hair out of place.
If only you had a pencil protector,
In your shirt pocket.

I try, you see,
To be as irreverent as you.
Just like the day he died,
You ask
Just how it is that I am.

In some mystical way,
You are his spiritual son.
You dream of the two of you
Taking me out on blind dates,
Both of you fixing me up,
Trying to make things right.
In your dreams
He always smiles at me,
Always loves me.

The three of us
Dance across the stage of your
Dreams,
Tuxedoes, canes and top hats,
All shtick,
Jokes for the slow witted.

A long time
To figure you out,
My friend,
You grasp the pain,
The significance of longing.

It is why you are laughing
…and dancing,
…laughing
…and dancing.