I don't remember the first time I met you.
Only old ripped up pictures
that I may or may not be in
'cause babies all look alike after a while.

I remember the second time I met you.
Your old apartment dulled by
a haze of cigarette smoke
and your nose shone red and fat like a clown's.

I remember the third time I met you.
You sat adorned with flowers
as a man stood and sang your praises
and a woman walked plainly behind the procession.