when I was small, in sun, he enthralled with card tricks, riddles, jokes.
I sang him Pass it On; he always requested
his favorite The Drummer and the Cook, clapping, laughing.
(hadn't realized he was cock-eyed, lifetime bachelor.)
when bigger, I wrote him letters, considered sidetripping thru prairies.
when we went west, said, next time.
several years later, mom glossed over his passing,
reproached me for not befriending him better;
we could have got oil money inheritance;
pitilessness broadsiding me.