one year becomes another.
I try to decide if ever I’d
made rhymes up for my brother.
Perhaps I did for Christmas,
or a song I once performed,
But not commemoration
of the day that he was born.
The reason I may offer
(well known to the masses):
A mere three days it comes before
the deadline for our taxes.
Yes, the table where I write this
is well be-strewn with papers
Concerning items purchased
and income for our labors.
Likewise we hope on the twelfth
you give yourself a break,
Not be mired or too wired
explaining what you make.
As has been my pattern,
in choosing what’s for giving,
I search up our old icons
to see which are still living.
Indeed there is one Elvis
who long outlived the other—
More than likely not still being
followed by my brother.
Well remember I the day
I waited at your place,
Curiously removed Costello's
record from its case;
How high did sound his voice;
his band buzzed like a hive!
Unaware was I the platter
spun at forty-five.
Forty years have come and gone
since then; can you believe?
More memories where that came from,
now pleasant to retrieve,
Of each our lives unfolding
finding just the mate
Who draws us into purchase
of excess real estate.
And though we may be dwelling
at distant longitudes—
Your clients seeking better sounds
while mine seek better moods—
There’s one connecting vector
that may not be ignored.
For like the mug you fashioned,
my key includes your chord.
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