so off to new york in a little brown box
no lock, not like my little dog's box at all
with the last of his brides, and his two sons,
all soon to be together in that magical city
where if one can make it there then one can make it
anywhere: i was not invited: i am sad but
no son ever thinks of me unless there are
legal questions to ask or death decisions to
make or money to be spent: his last bride
has little voice, she gave it all to me and
so off to new york in a little brown box my
step father will go, to be sprinkled into blue
as the sax plays in the background a familiar
tune, a melody he riffed once upon a time, in his living days
