with thanks to J.G.
I meet Charlie in the dreamspace
He’s been dead these twenty years
I say Hey, how’s it going?
and he hands me a cold beer
We shoot the breeze about his liquor store
and his Boston triple-decker
He bought cheap, worked hard, got rich:
his generation hit it right.
At 65, he cashed out for a cool million
and headed home to Georgia.
Finally time to do what I want:
his future stretched out bright
But only as far as Virginia
where he stopped at a motel
and his heart stopped in his sleep
and sent him here.
Charlie shakes his head as he tells me:
A million bucks in my pocket!
I can see it, as I take another swig:
A blue check in a pair of brown pants, thrown over a chair.
Charlie says for ages he was angry
About everything he didn’t get to see and do
But now he thinks: It’s a great story
And maybe that’s what I was sent to do
To tell you life’s short, don’t waste it working!
And his face is all wrinkles as he laughs
And as I wake up, I think: Make today a great one
‘Cause Charlie died for you