The one thing you will miss when you are dead 

is the music of Pat Metheny. That you will never get to listen to 

“San Lorenzo” on your bed, balling your face off 

like when your lover leaves you 

for another lover and you swear to God believe 

there will never be any more love to have 

between yourself and another lover 

down the river 

whose name might be Barb. 

Sometimes you get fired from a job 

that you’ve worked at for 24 years 

but when you go home you can still put on Travels and get the fuck out of Dodge 

in your mind 

like that time you went to Cleveland and the snow was very dirty. 

When you are dead Pat Metheny’s “As Falls Wichita Falls” will still be played 

somewhere in Detroit or Los Angeles 

by a 20-year-old who has just discovered her heart 

is a snow globe 

dropped onto Ventura Blvd before rush hour. 

It won’t have anything to do with you. 

You will be dead 

and Lyle Mays’ piano will drift in and out of the parked cars 

for anyone who ever knew how to get undressed under the Missouri Sky 

at midnight 

before the locust showed up.