Saturday, May 21, 2016


Picture a big red house on a hilltop high.
Maybe the hill was not really that high,
The house not that big at all.
But I was small.

A happy childhood with him
I can conjure up at whim
As I remember my cousin Joe
Who made it so.

Three years my elder, he taught me by the score,
Things like reading, spelling, and the rest.
He wanted me to astound when I went to school.
He wanted me to be the best.

When I was eight, my family moved away,
Sadly, Joey and I each went a separate way.
Unknowing, I left him to comply
With mental ills that soon began to multiply.

While for me, other friendships,
Some of which still endure,
Filled my life and my days.
I just wish now I had visited Joey more.

Still, wouldn't it be a crime
In these, my Eighties Years,
To waste precious, fleeting time
Shedding guilty tears?

Wouldn't it be better instead
To focus on images that of late
Play and replay in my head?
A kaleidoscope of Joey and me.