David Franks Week - poem by Jamie Gaughran-Perez

Dear David,

I'm writing this on the train because time is short again.

I'm sorry I didn't change the overhead lightbulbs when you were away. It would've been a nice surprise. You would have smiled and it wouldn't have been at someone's expense.

And I'm sorry we never got a chance to walk around Fells Point like you suggested – you and me and my daughter. She would've thought you were funny on a good day.

And I'm sorry I didn't return your call that time and that other time. My marriage was falling apart, and I'm trying to have more in the tank for my daughter. She's getting so big.

I'm afraid of being old and alone and worthless and forgotten, David.

You weren't afraid. Not that I saw. The kids would say about your work, He doesn't give a fuck! But you so gave a fuck.

I cried at one of your readings. I don’t do that.

You had a great laugh, a bullhorn, and once, a little shaving cream under your ear. Sometimes you took so much, but man, you had the best Thank You.

Be well.