Old Allie’s Baseball mitt with all those poems Written all over the fingers & pocket in green ink So that he would have something to read out in the field When nobody was up at bat
He never got mad at anybody & I remember he used to laugh so hard at something he thought of at the dinner table that he just about fell off his chair
He’s dead now, oh, Allie my brother Two years younger than me You would’ve liked him, yes you would’ve He died when we were up in Maine
Allie, Allie, this world seems so empty without thee
Then I broke all the windows in the garage Did it with my fist – just for the hell of it Even tried to break all the windows of that Station wagon we had that summer
My hand still hurts me once in a while When it rains & all, & when it’s cold outside I can’t make a real fist anymore At least, not a tight one