When they demolish your house,
I want to be there.
When they treat you for death,
I want to hear that you feel great.
When that guy beans you with a baseball,
I want to be able to say: Go Get ‘Im, Tiger.
When you forget who you are,
I want to follow you from the hospital
to the shelter.
I will be the one
with the balloon
that is red and fat
and no one knows
is really a satellite
for watching you.
I want to join you on another
earth that looks just like this one,
only smaller, and live
in a beautiful house–the size,
the feel, of a warm, kind toaster.