Cotton Eye Joe, of the wild hair and angular face. Joe who called me Champ, brought me cappuccino just the way I liked it, gave me a bracelet and a novel by Salman Rushdie. Who told me I could do the crossword in a foreign language and make executive decisions. Who went on mad hitch-hiking adventures and rain runs and almost-ordinary dog walks with me. Who forgave me when I almost cheated on him with a movie star and let other men buy me dinner. Who flew to Hel to find me.
Cotton Eye Joe, who disappeared without a trace when I broke his heart.
2 comments:
If he called you Scout it could have been Atticus Finch.
The measure of life is counted in losses, someone once told me.
He could very well have been Atticus Finch. And yes, I would be less without the memory of this man.
Post a Comment