is on his third life,
and I hope he lives forever.
He is a bleacher creature
of the best variety,
coarse chest hair and White Claw.
Without him, the world
is less of a luxury for living,
because he burns bright for strangers.
I only cross his path
for a Planck poise
and an encore high five.
But he will thrill
forever in this poem,
and my concert heart.