This old man, he play one, he play walk like I walk, son. With a six-pack, heart attack, leave me all alone, this old man come rolling home. This old man, he play two, he play listen I know you. With a back-slap, wisecrack, cut me to the bone, this old man drove me from […]
My father gave me a small globe, “This is the world,” he said, and showed me where to put the money. “Good boy,” he said. “Good-bye! Good luck!” A lot of good that did me. Or him. I lift and shake it: empty. It doesn’t spin; it never did, and the countries are different.