Jerry Estrel was a kook
He marked his grounds with white chalk
Proclaimed to be neighborhood Duke
He made a throne out of cinder blocks
His mother seems small, dreams tall
She once swayed and threw it away
She drove over his basketball
Wept and locked herself in her promenade
Jerry gave a perplexed look
She's only been like that once
When his father died, she read his book
And duly took home his dozen buns
Mother held rings ever tight
And dreamt her child to be rich
His grandest birthday gift in sight
Her wallet, merely a stitch
She dug in her mouth and cried,
"I'm sorry my son, I lied"
He says,
"Ma, I just want a harmonica for my birthday"
Jerry was of an old soul
Wrote in mad spells to sell
With light years within his control
But couldn't afford what he could not foretell
In winter, the mother, she shivered
In summer, the beggar laid down
The years gnawing at her liver
Traded her gowns for a bound
Jerry gave a limping look
Duly blamed his mother's fate
He wandered, and loved, and mistook
Every circumstance as her incarnate
Then the debt filled up to her eyes
They could not provide themselves sun
She offered him no alibis
And slept in the silent sounds of the guns
She steeled herself till she was sore
"My son, I can't buy you anymore"
He says,
"Ma, I just want a harmonica for my birthday"
Jerry traveled for a time
He had found the sights that he craved
Walked home to offer his mother a dime
But now, she dreams beneath a grave
He fell down and cried,
"I'm sorry ma, I tried"
Jerry played a harmonica for her birthday
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 2:10 PM UTC
Jerry Estrel was a kook
He marked his grounds with white chalk
Proclaimed to be neighborhood Duke
He made a throne out of cinder blocks
His mother seems small, dreams tall
She once swayed and threw it away
She drove over his basketball
Wept and locked herself in her promenade
Jerry gave a perplexed look
She's only been like that once
When his father died, she read his book
And duly took home his dozen buns
Mother held rings ever tight
And dreamt her child to be rich
His grandest birthday gift in sight
Her wallet, merely a stitch
She dug in her mouth and cried,
"I'm sorry my son, I lied"
He says,
"Ma, I just want a harmonica for my birthday"
Jerry was of an old soul
Wrote in mad spells to sell
With light years within his control
But couldn't afford what he could not foretell
In winter, the mother, she shivered
In summer, the beggar laid down
The years gnawing at her liver
Traded her gowns for a bound
Jerry gave a limping look
Duly blamed his mother's fate
He wandered, and loved, and mistook
Every circumstance as her incarnate
Then the debt filled up to her eyes
They could not provide themselves sun
She offered him no alibis
And slept in the silent sounds of the guns
She steeled herself till she was sore
"My son, I can't buy you anymore"
He says,
"Ma, I just want a harmonica for my birthday"
Jerry traveled for a time
He had found the sights that he craved
Walked home to offer his mother a dime
But now, she dreams beneath a grave
He fell down and cried,
"I'm sorry ma, I tried"
Jerry played a harmonica for her birthday
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