Little Chunks
So much of me is little chunks of him,
My music my art the tales that I spin
Over nine thousand days getting on with the living,
Sculpting and moulding these chunks I've been given
Hearing the drum beat coming from our garage
A fluke broken hand that he wore like a badge
His teasing of grandma with old stories and lies
Through her protests I'd see, the pride in her eyes
Sitting round the campfire singing Croce songs
He played his guitar and we all sang along
Everyone knew you don't mess round with Jim
There were few who would mess round with him
Showed me some piano that song from The Sting
Borrowed my guitars and broke some of my strings
Borrowed my shirts for a few special nights
It didn't matter what he wore, he just wore it right
Twenty five years of the worlds ebbs and flows
I still see him laughing with his boys in tow
Running up the hill and into the park
Over and over again in my mind, in the dark
Hockey and baseball and football and tennis
Just a short list of sports that we shared between us
Coaching and teaching with me and his boys
These grew to be two of my greatest joys
Trying to stay awake reading The Outsiders
Waking to the sounds of Syl and the nurse beside her
The last night spent with my biggest guide
Who's little chunks I carry with pride
Twenty five years of the worlds ebbs and flows
I still see him laughing with his boys in tow
Running up the hill and into the park
Over and over again in my mind, in the dark
Over and over again in my mind, in the dark