Sherry, Sherry,
The pride of Dewey High, class of ’95,
Who would’ve thought?
Just a year ago you fell for Constantine,
A promising Canadian-born Sumo wrestler.
The two of you ran off across the globe,
To the beautiful and beckoning Japan.
He drove you from the airport in a purple Lexus,
With reinforced shocks and fuzzy dice
Hanging from the rear-view mirror.
You thought it was crazy, and cool.
Twenty-three years old,
You didn’t know you would become
Wife number four – it’s legal for
Sumo wrestlers, a perk of the trade.
You called me last May, from Osaka;
I could hear the rain drops,
Pounding on the phone booth.
He treats me well, you said, I’m happy, …
How is Brooklyn? … That told me everything.
And I said, Sherry, it’s all gone:
The days when we could lie in a wheat field,
In Hamilton, New York, staring at the stars
During the steamy August nights,
Sipping cherry Kool-Aid, laughing like idiots.
You started saying something else, but stopped;
We both hung up, --nothing more to say.
It was just one of those things.