Southbound Jericho Parkway
There was a man whose memories were made up of nothing.
He pushed the elevator button, and go home to nothing.
Yes his business had prospered but women get lonely sometimes,
Now she has the house
His son in college had dropped out to expand his mind.
And Sarah, his daughter had not spoken to him.
Maybe he d raised her the wrong way. He wondered.
He checked his mailbox, with fingers a-tremblin no mail, from anyone.
”I m home“ he said softly, as he opened the door
And gazed at his empty apartment, aching, thinking.
Southbound Jericho parkway is what you call a one-way street.
Southbound Jericho parkway is what you call a one-way street.
At 7.20, Monday after New Year, Mr Henry Johnson leaned against the pedal
Aimed his Lincoln steady and drove himself into a wall.
How could a thing such as this ever happen.
All the community said it was shame.
He was a good man, he was a clean man yeah,
That s what he was a good and clean man
And his landlady said he was an exemplary tenant.
They re always nice and quiet when they re all alone at his age.
The young man sat, on a small woven mat.
While the silken smoke it circled over head.
The cigarettes were there to prove he didn t care
Bout the contents of the telegram he d just read.
Father, father, father.
You always seemed to be so out of reach.
And the psychedelic sign read: peace.
Apartment in New York, a girl closes the door,
And leans against it with her head bowed low.
Thoughts raced through her mind of when she was a child.
Raised warmly by a man she didn t know.
Father, father, father.
She wished she had phoned him yesterday
There were so many things she had to say
Henry, the check is in my hands
Brought by the insurance man to cover all my plans
We ll have flowers, your broker will be there
And Sarah, if she cares, and our boy with all his hair
And the sun rose, and the sunset as it always has,
And people yet unknown, were busy being born,
And time when past.
by: José Duarte
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