I learned from Manny how to deliver a killer punchline,

to have bottles of whiskey and wine

for every palate and occasion with the correct glasses for sipping.

I learned to hold memberships

to art museums and to bring your guests

from out of town with you to see your favorite pieces

and to buy them melting clocks to hang off the side of the piano.

I learned to buy your great-nephew

two plastic orangutans that he picks

from a store full of

hand-painted train sets because it’s all that

he wants.

I learned to share the joy in a table blanketed in bowls of warm soup

and endless stories of janitor to CEO, and to never dwell on

being sick because there is still a plane ticket

bought under your name that departs tomorrow.

I learned that money means

nothing with those you love

at your side and those you don’t close to your

heart in sickness and in health

as the machines by your bed beep with your breathing.

You must share a warm smile with those

you know or don’t and the least

you could spare was kindness, your watch collection, the smell of musky cologne.