I think what I would like to do is
I intended to read a different poem,
but I feel like reading The Milky Way again,
since we were still recovering from Eddie Murphy.
And what can I say about it this time?
When I was a bro, the--
[LAUGHTER]
The one thing that I--
when I was reading the last poem,
reading the lines about lying far beneath whatever
is going on, but unfortunate, it's not exactly an image
but recollection to my mind that almost stalled me
in the poem but my wife and I were talking
one night about where we wanted to be buried,
assuming we ever die, and I say, I
want to be buried under a tree.
She wanted to be buried under a shopping center.
And I always remember that.
Far beneath whatever is going on, you know.
Under the boutique, right?
This poem, The Milky Way, reminds me of something
that's talked about in the middle of the poem.
When we first came down to Tucson,
my son, who's a juvenile diabetic,
came down with diabetes.
And because he was misdiagnosed, he almost died.
He almost was not treated for it quickly enough.
What I'm reminded of by the lines about his playing
with the starship is the fact that when he was back
from the hospital for two or three days and we
were still really keeping a wary eye on him,
and he seemed a little pale and sickly and whatever,
which is anything but now, the way
that I knew that he was really fully recovered and would be OK
was he had a toy McDonald's that we'd gotten somewhere in--
I think we got it Value Village.
And he had all these little Star Wars figures,
and he was three years old then.
And he was playing in his room fairly loudly,
so I thought he was probably OK or better or whatever.
I was listening closely to him, and Darth Vader came in.
All these guys are working at McDonald's, OK?
You know, Lando Calrissian and Jabba the Hutt.
Nope, not then or whatever, OK.
Darth Vader came into McDonald's and he's
acting out these roles, OK?
Darth Vader came into McDonald's and ordered a cheeseburger.
They said they were out of them, and he wiped the place out
completely.
And I knew Bodie was aright.
The other thing it reminds me of, which is inconsequential,
is when I was a boy--
some things are made up in the poem.
I had to make up a father better than my own in the poem.
But my grandfather, who I did greatly love
and who I lived with for a time when I was young,
with my grandparents, told me that at twilight there
used to be bats that flew around over our house.
And he told me that if I took his felt hat
and threw it up into the air, I'd
catch a bat if they flew into it.
And I spent hours and hours and hours doing that.
Early television.
When I was a boy, the Milky Way floated just
over the city of Boston, so I was
lucky to live in that place, that house, where
my father allowed that his face, and like the moon went out,
came back, walking winter nights beneath the Milky Way.
Few thoughts, few fears, a way of sleeping through the night.
When my son lay sewn to the sheets, adrift
in his diabetic coma among the blown seductive stars,
I could not think of anything to say,
for he was not anywhere nearby.
He said, Papa, and came back.
Tonight in his play, he wipes out McDonald's.
He captains a sleek starship toward the Milky Way.
When I was a boy, the city of Boston
lay miles away within our sight.
The evenings, we set our chairs upon the lawn and talked.
Few thoughts, a way of watching until dark.
Then, as our small wickers floated through the night,
I wished I might be taken away to live forever
in that distant city made holy of light.