Car chimes was what *** called  
All the bottles Joe would gather,
Drinking in the back seat on road trips,
Passenger to his own joyful reeling.  

Joe couldn’t go without drinking,
It was the poetry in his blood.
*** and I would do the driving
With Joe happily reciting W.H. Davies:

“No man to pluck my sleeve and say—
I want thy labour for this day;
No man to keep me out of sight,
When that dear Sun is shining bright.”

And when he’d recite those poems
The bottles would begin to chime
In rhythm to his tapping feet,
Music to our ears, laughter to our tears.