I’m sorry, Martin.
I just wrote of another
with your name
but you should have been first in my heart,
first in my thoughts.

If there is a Martin in my life
it should be you.
You took me out to shows
let me play in your garden.
We were close
before you died.
I should have paid more attention
to you when alive
and certainly now,
even if it is somewhat his day.

I erred.
I will not make that mistake again
of ysing that name in vain
unless I’m hammering some theses
or watching Bad Boys.
Otherwise, it’s all you, Martin.

I swear it.