Tracy's not here right now
No tellin' what he's up to
Maybe he's gone to visit Ross
And help him build a bass
Or maybe he and Overall
Are someplace playing golf
Or he's gone out on Lime Kiln Road
Picking Rhonda flowers
He could be down on Hopkins Street
Combing through yard sales
Digging deep through every box
To find his mom a treasure
He may have said let’s blow this town
And waste the day with Tim
Or head on out to Maxwell
For Alida's spaghetti sauce
He could be swimming at the Falls
Ducking when Lois drives by
Or gone with Bill to Pleasanton
To prime a stripper well
Likely he's out at grandma's place
Exploring with Travis and Hoss
Or sneaking by Diego's' shack
To leave a sack of pecans
Tracy’s late, we're not surprised
He's busy -- don't know where
He has important things to do
And friends to visit there
-
Author:
jarcher54 (
Offline) - Published: September 20th, 2020 00:56
- Comment from author about the poem: I wrote this a few years ago on the tragic death by overdose of a dear friend from childhood to read at his memorial service. Misfit, misunderstood, rule breaker, prankster, usually broke, the sweetest most polite, loyal, and lost man I've ever known. The people and places mentioned are real but quotidian and mostly live on only in my memories. We played in the woods as kids, and our nicknames were Tom and Huck. He was Tom, too curious, always in trouble, magnanimous, generous with the little he ever owned, unsuccessfully deceptive, mischievous yet deeply innocent. On my 50th birthday he gave me 50 small gifts... mostly trinkets and old photos, little drawings, an old fountain pen. Treasures of no value to anyone else but me. A few months after his death his close friend Tim and I scattered some of his ashes in the river where we grew up, buried a few illicitly on his fathers grave (his father never understood Tracy), and I kept some in a silver locket for his despondent girlfriend Rhonda. She moved away without picking them up and is nowhere to be found. Everyone loved Tracy despite his flaws. Even during a couple short stays in Texas prisons he made friends and was never harmed or threatened. He told me the secret to staying alive in prison was to show everyone respect. I wrote this mostly to return the respect he showed others.
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Comments5
Sounds like a remarkable person and a very good friend. Good words Jarcher.
Andy
sadly and ever so.. but necessarily so .. this poem is quite like your dear friend Tracy .. not at all quiet, but larger than life and crammed with all manner of things loved, simple, profound remembered and useful.....
Yes, he was restless, seldom finished anything, had good intentions that failed to materialize, let you down out of distraction and inability to focus. He needed help as a young man and did not get it. His dad put no store in therapy and that sissy lot, wanted him to just be a man, tough it out. And he was a mess. But he was always busy, always into something new, had all sorts of friends and adventures, and in many ways I envied his day-to-day freedom.
very touching jarcher.
Aw this is a touching poem written in adoring your naughty fun friend who you must be missing. Its so sweet and fantastic even we are wishing he could be just swimming at the falls. Kudos for how you narrated and expressed it in elegy.
Thank you for your observant comment. Yes he was mixed up and inconsistent, but I miss him very much.
And you were the friend that Tracy needed, and you were there for him. Great tribute jarcher. ; )
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