For Jesse Wasser

You did what you thought that you needed to do
To be a man and provide and mold.
Worked with wood regardless of exploitation,
Joined the Navy – I have a feeling that you,
Never really wanted to do so in the first place,
But machismo was validity in the heyday,
And you bought into it like the rest of us wanderers.
If only you, if only you could have,
If only you could have not listened so intently,
If only you could have realized
That your life was yours and yours alone,
If only you could have had the courage to walk away
Or have even an ounce of gumshoe to be more like Jack,
Then it might not seem so fuckin' normal.
I stand 'neath the tiers of success where you used to
And pose like you do,
And observe vessels and quote verbatim from words you said when you made me a sandwich with butter and I didn't like it because I thought that it was strange.
That's “how it's done,” you said.
And from that moment, I wonder about the wherewithal
Of my mind, and of the ocean so vast
Standing and smoking a cigarette on top of a rock in Carmel,
Saying nothing but reflecting
Hugging grand-kids and whispering apologies to the wind,
“Sorry” for being nothing other than who you are and what you could
Have Been.