I’m deathly afraid
that Steve will find out
that I stole Dan’s song
– if I stole it
which I didn’t.
I admit nothing.

It’s got a haunting set of lyrics
about New York apartments
and isolation and desperation
and it ends with a punchline
which I really like.
Dan’s not playing it anymore
because Dan’s not playing songs anymore.
He’s retired
if you can ever really retire from playing
20-person holes-in-the-wall.

He’s out of the game.
He’d never notice,
is what I’m saying,
if I took any liberties
with this long-gone song.

Steve, though,
would know.
He’d recognize any reference
to Danny’s work
and call me on it.
He’s that kind guy.
He’s a historian.
He’s the conscience
of the community
and would no doubt hold me responsible
for any errant behavior
regarding “Ridge Street,”
a song probably unheard for fifteen years.

It’s a really sweet little number
but it’s Dan’s
and Steve would never forgive me
for ignoring my better angels.
Maybe
before I steal the song, then,
I should kill Steve.