Luke and Goob
I met you randomly paired as office mates,
I was a mama’s boy whose mama just died.
You never minded when I’d teach my class
and after, just wanted to sit on the floor and cry.
You handed me a brandy Manhattan after I gave the eulogy.
Oh, my brother I never even knew how good you’d be to me.
I never knew how good you’d be to me.
Bad-asses, funny, sentimental as hell, but serious as death itself.
Chucking beer cans at the Atlantic Ocean, singing Journey
with Puerto Ricans in San Juan, drinking boxed wine
and talking shit in my rat-hole apartment on Third Street until dawn.
Oh, my brother I never even knew how good you’d be to me.
I never knew how good you’d be to me.
Two introverts strutting through the world with leather
jackets and blue jeans. I never knew how good you’d be to me.
And no matter how bad things seemed, my brother, it was you
who held me up with an arm around the shoulder, or your
words flashing across my screen like the police officer
who flashed before us while we drank Oberons on Front Street.
And we’ve made the best of the transition, done our best not
to sell out, but man, I’m proud of you, and more or less, we’re
both convincing everyone else we’re real adults.
I never knew how good you’d be to me. Calling you from Harlem
in the middle of the night after she left me and you got me to laugh
about some girls at the Upfront. Remembering how we used
to go out dancing on Monday night, just because.
Baby, I never knew how good you’d be to me.
For you, this is Springsteen’s “Bobby Jean.”
And I just wanted to let you know that I know how good you’ve been to me.
Dropped Calls 