Learning To Wave To Strangers

I remember your laugh.

It was louder than you were big.

I miss the scratchy sound it made

When it came bursting out of you

And the way you held my hand

When we sang My Brown Eyed Girl.

Or smiled at me in that way

That helps a child grow up to be a good man

In a world that doesn’t wave to strangers anymore

I remember the countless displays,

Or shrines really, of frogs

In various states of undress.

Some were obviously heading to work,

Some golfing, swimming, having a smoke

Some were living in your house,

Living right along side you.

Everyone called you Nini Frog for a reason.

I remember watching our family reverie

By the pool table in your basement,

Someone was beating someone

And you were sitting at the piano,

Or maybe the bar, cracking jokes

The liquor and beer raised the volume

To a very happy decibel

The cigarette smoke framed the old ghost stories

I’d heard as long as I could remember

And we’d get all worked up about tornadoes

And black cats crossing the road

But I learned how to love unconditionally

By watching you all dance and sing

The Crocodile Rock like it was

the only thing that mattered.

Maybe it was.

The kindness and joy that made you up,

Can’t be replaced by the simple memories I have of you,

But I don’t know that I would be able to reconcile the loss

If I didn’t have at least that to hold on to.

You didn’t know it, but your joy protected me

From the cold, selfishness of a young man’s life.

Your kindness was a book I read a thousand times

Learning to keep my heart warm,

So that I could smile and wave to strangers