When he was your age,
got the very same kind of cancer.
It's time to start writing songs, I said.
You're a survivor now.
You smirked at me from behind that guitar,
and the smirk said
"Don't you know
about dreamers and doers?
Dreamers don't become doers overnight."
And having always been a doer,
I feebly said, "Bullshit,"
and the smirk just kept on smirking.
And you, so sad behind that evil smirk,
did not hear this conversation.
Holding your guitar
as thin as you were
when my mother