I used to joke you about your name,

calling you a honky-tonk man,

and you would laugh that buxom laugh

and say you were a 100% real man.

I remember your lopsided smile,

so like the real you peeking out,

the intelligence and humor

the things I loved the most.

The Indian Summer that we spent

baking in that terrible heat,

the way you would cheer me up

with your muscleman impression.

I can see the pooling sweat

pouring down your skin

as you stand before me shirtless,

drinking a cold soda straight from the can.

You never drank anything strong,

never said a mean word,

but I remember the wrenching pain,

the agony inside when you said it wouldn’t work.

You walked away from me

straight-backed beautiful, your bag over your shoulder,

your hair shining in the distance,

gone in moments, good-bye.