Desperado, why don’t you come to your senses?
—Glenn Frey and Don Henley
Sing sweetly, sadly, gravely.
Beat the big chords from the baby grand.
Bring the full band, and a string quartet for the coda.
Strike a sympathetic note: Don’t your feet get cold?
Explain what is at risk, all the highs and lows,
even without self-medication
or prescription drugs.
Offer metaphors: Fences. Gates. The sky.
If you sense all this is failing, that your friend remains cold
and lonely, plead and instruct.
Let somebody love you.
Warn him: Too late. Too late.
And as the last notes dim and gutter, quiver into absence
and doubt, remember:
it has always been too late.
Take some comfort in the beauty of your song.
