Domino

There’s somebody that I’d like you to meet.
Somebody that I knew a long time ago but was killed
By a murder inside of a clock.
His name is Nick and he’s eleven years old, so sit right
Down and let me tell you about this boy. Let me tell you
About what three in the morning smells like in a small
Iowa town. Let me tell you how many sunflower seeds
You can eat in a summer, how many times you can play
A song over and over and over before it stops being
A soundtrack and starts affecting your breathing, your walk,
Your style.

I want to tell you about what kinds of dreams you can have
At two in the afternoon. What summer is like when you’re
Not worried about sweating through your clothes, when you’re
Not worried about what time lunch is, when you’re not worried
About your bills and your legacy.
When you’re not worried.

Before the tick-tick-tock of the second hand sped past the minute
Hand and zoomed past that hour hand like a space ship
On a one way trip to forever, there was a boy that was a pro wrestler,
A late night talk show host, a baseball player, a scholar and a shyster
Who got into a little too much trouble just to see if he could get out.
And he always did.

You might not have heard about his death in the papers, he wasn’t
Lost on some milk carton circulating the suburbs, he just disappeared
Like the late nights and the ice cream man.
One day—just gone.

His spirit survives to this day. He hides in between the hashes
On the clock. That split second before you hold the hand of a girl
You love, the minute you take that step away from home, and in
Blanket warm Wednesday’s in June when you hear lawnmowers
Humming over the sound of an afternoon baseball game.
Enough of these moments and he’ll live through us forever.