His future was assured. I’ll tell you why.
His father owned “Repairs and Parts Supply”.
Though only twelve, already Markie could
your median income at a glance descry
and whistle as he raised your engine’s hood.
With me, he mastered nothing. Didn’t try.
What need had he for Treaties of Versailles?
Before he came to school he’d greet the crew
he knew he would inherit, by and by,
and sell a solenoid – or maybe two.
My classroom, in those days, happened to lie
across the schoolyard. Out of habit, I
arrived before the others. There I’d sit
completely unobserved by prying eye,
and grade some papers, daydream how to quit.
Young Markie would approach me on the sly,
just me and him, alone at Fleetwood High:
his head appeared around my door to shout
(it never varied – what a funny guy)
“Just sort your life out, sir!” and then run out.
Some jokes are full-on funny, some are wry:
and humour sometimes makes us want to cry:
our choices, often hard to justify.
My friends all wish, and say so with a sigh,
I’d followed Markie’s counsel. So do I.
I sit in myself so dark and quiet and loud
I wish I had a way through my memory's darkest cloud
I always thought that she and I would finish this ride together
Yet here I sit inside my soul inside the darkest weather
Yvette my dear sweet friend my dear sweet wife
It was you and I together in this wonderful life
Its hurts so bad I can't see where you went
Help me find you please , where are you darling
Please come back to me, I don't have another ryme
I can't see, I can't breath just a little more time
With you in my arms I miss you so much
I love you Yvette, Shanity , ill see you in my dreams.
Love your faithful husband Markie
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