Mr. C passed away the other day.
Oh, he had a real family and a real name
and real friends, but everyone knew him,
even the nerds, as "Mr. C" each week
in Milwaukee , circa the 1950s.
Like everyone of the
gray and flickering images
of different lives that became
home movies of those no longer here.
Some lived lives close to those
we might live, thought highly idealized.
Some in strange and exotic places,
safely dangerous, surreal places.
Some were jiggling "angels",
empowering little sister,
while distracting dad and big brother.
some we actually, oddly fell in love with.
She was a doll,
but she'd have to get in line
even if she did get to pet Cleo.
Oh well, she's crusing with Perry White now.
And Peggy's gone.
No! Not Peggy!
Sorry it's so, Joe.
At least she won't get
Some made us laugh,
some laughed with us,
these bumbling crime-fighters
and shipwrecked beatniks.
I was in Brooklyn Heights one holiday night
and dropped in on the Lanes.
Patty and Richard were still together (how nice!),
Poppo and the rest were well, but where was Mrs. Lane?
Oh, sorry to hear that.