In the neon glow of a comedy club,
"catch with a K."
Your band teacher led the band
at the Green Mill.
But not really.
You held my hair anyway.
Drinking port in an Inn
somewhere in England.
In Scotland.
In Ireland.
I will never forget that smell
that is Tipperary.
It haunts me still.
And the time at Halloween
when I painted Kiss.
But I wasn't one of them.
Maybe I was never one of you.
I read in my baby book that
my very first words were
"Bye-Bye."
