The Interrogation

Can we get down to brass taxes? And when we do, maybe you can explain to me what brass taxes are. Or perhaps you can tell me a little bit about why all people cut corners? And why all men dance with their wandering eye? And why they say eye and not eyes. Maybe you could teach me these things and more.

When I was little, you used to tell me that I should, "Sit tight, kid." That you would take me "coast to coast on butter toast." And I imagined that was a slippery magic carpet ride that would last until infinity. But maybe now, maybe now you could tell me why we all get rug burn sooner or later and why nothing lasts forever. Not even you and me.

At the top of the stairs, I would look down at the street lamp outside the window and find reasons not to sleep. I asked you why we have to leave? And I confessed to you there, just six years and not even six feet in, that I was afraid to die. But maybe tonight, you could hold my hand and just remind me of why the sound of your breath while sleeping was keeping me alive.

I was just thinking that if we had some lemonade and we heated it in the microwave, even without our sore throats, you could tell me why Donald Duck makes everything better.