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Uncle Sam had me”… Now I’m glad he didn’t;

It would be lots too much like seein’ ghosts

Now that I’m sure he never won’t come back….

Oh, God! I don’t see how I ever stand it!

He was so big and strong! He was a darb!

The swellest dresser, with them nifty shirts

That fold down, and them lovely nobby shoes,

And always all his clothes would be one color,

Like green socks with green ties, and a green hat,

And everything…. We never had no words

Or hardly none….

And now to think that mouth

I useta kiss is bitin’ into dirt,

And through them curls I useta smooth a bullet

Has went….

I wisht it would of killed me, too….

Oh, well… about the Vic…. I guess I’ll sell it

And get a small ring anyways. (I won’t

Get but half as good a one as if

He spent it all on that when he first ast me.)

It don’t seem right to play jazz tunes no more

With him gone. And it ain’t a likely chanst

I’d find nobody ever else again

Would suit me, or I’d suit. And so a little

Quarter of a carat, maybe, but a real one

That could sparkle, sometimes, and remember

The home I should of had.…

And still, you know,

The Vic was his idear, and so…

I wonder….