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