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Funny Man

You were a glockenspiel accused of bumping off

twelve little fiddles. You were our generation’s most

heart wrenching ugly duckling. You were Tschaikowsky

breaking the world speed record for a cappella

efsky-ofsky ovitch-ivitch rhyming Russian composers.


You had the fastest roller coaster electric train epiglottis

in the universe, a painted wide open grin, an ear-to-ear

clown. If laughter was the best medicine as the Reader’s

Digest insisted, you inspired a hilarious new therapy


A bouncing, flouncing, balding, cavorting, wide-lipped,

spinning, ad libbing, wheeling healing treatment that

has transformed our lugubrious hospital system into

smiles and squeals of health.


Above all you were the hero of our childhood. Whatever

you dreamed, we dreamed, waiting for you to reappear

on the Saturday morning screen of the Victory Cinema

or on the revolving brown label of a 78, a blustering

filibustering Walter Mitty, a pattering quick change artist


We smiled with you, giggled with you, fell in love

with you, named our kids after you.  Danny, is it a

coincidence that it’s been raining since you’ve gone,

angels laughing till they cry, rolling in some heavenly aisles?

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© Johnmichael Simon



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