Dusty Brown Suit

For those of you who might have had enjoyed the previous anecdote of family friend, Tony Mazza, you might enjoy this little poem about him.  Thanks for dropping by…again.

Dusty Brown Suit

Oh, how he loved his dusty brown suit,
white shirt, black tie and blue can of beer;
his baggy pants swaying to the kick of his boot
Oh, how he loved his dusty brown suit.
He walked everywhere, had pockets full of loot
but, to him, family-friends were most dear
Oh, how he loved his dusty brown suit,
white shirt, black tie and blue can of beer.

Though nothing’s been said ‘bout his mom and his dad,
there isn’t much known ‘bout his life;
It’s known he came from Italy where his life was bad,
though nothing’s been said ‘bout his mom and his dad.
And as sweet as he was, still the stories were sad
and one wonders why he never took a wife.
Though nothing’s been said ‘bout his mom and his dad,
there isn’t much known ‘bout his life;

I’ll always remember him, kicking-up sawdust with dad
in the backroom, at the store that we owned.
By the stacks of Pabst, they sang and danced…not bad.
I’ll always remember him, kicking-up sawdust with dad.
It’s hard that memories serve you well, yet, also, make you sad
like remembering him in his brown suit for a moment…. loaned.
I’ll always remember him, kicking-up sawdust with dad
in the backroom, at the store that we owned.

copyright © 2012 T.J. Gargano

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