For Jack

 
I already wrote this, gypsy man
jukeboxes dark, falling off trucks,
tales, spinning, turquoise shirts glinting
in the dark below,
following the music, the dance, the fights,
the well behaved.

now, on another coast, but just,
lights out, gone, an eye lost, and a life .

Good night, Jack, we ended up badly, booze does that, and fear,
but children and lovers remain,
remembering love, passion, drive, of a sorts,
creative churnings around red vinyl tables.

Although, there was that one phone call,
facilitated by a friend
across the country,
and tales of Hawaii, Dorothy Dandrige, songs and Catholics oh hell
I don't  remember but you laughed, as you did,
and about that eye,
we knew that one
was coming.