for my son
I tell my friend that Queen could be your first.
Mine was Rush—no adult supervision
and heedless of what can happen.
Similar talks happened in Manchester kitchens.
This morning I slice strawberries
because I can still give you something.
You leave for the last Mass of 6th grade
and whisper Remember I’ll always appreciate you.
We separate in secret these days, but I’ll take it.
Other moms now rewind last sentences.
Bush said buy things, Facebook says don’t stop living,
U2 says don’t let the bastards grind you down.
I didn’t save stubs, but I keep scenes:
Wendy always next to me at Elton John.
Grande says she has no words. The Queen of England
stopped by to see those girls, so maybe we’d get Pope Francis.
My friend says choose someone timeless
so I convince myself there are no good bands left.