EVERY NOW AND THEN

(Timothy Brickley & David Rheins)

Her mother went into labor on Leap Day,

and everyone was thankful she was born March first.

But lately, she wouldn’t mind a missing year,

coming around every now and then.

Every now and then, she calls in the middle of the night.

Every now and then, I wake up and pick up a pen

and try to remember how it felt again.

Every now and then.

She talks about ol’ what’s-his-name,

her next big job or latest cruise or crisis,

or a kind-of fling with a pretty, long-haired leather-jacket thing

and yes, dear, I still feel the tingling every now and then.

Every now and then, someone will hold her cigarette like you do.

Every now and then, I’m back in your apartment watching smoke curl ‘round the ceiling

in the very same room someone else now lives in again.

Every now and then.

It doesn’t seem that long ago but by now it’s been years.

But something lasted the distance,

and all those other nights of revelry and abandon(ment.)

You said that you were going to leave, you had it all figured out

and so did I but not so precisely.

But neither of us went anywhere, except you two,

to the islands with your older friend who isn’t doing well

and I hit the road lying and feeling like hell.

But every now and then, I could stand to look into your eyes,

every now and then, and be amused by your casual, fantastic lies.

Every now and then, I know how the tides can pull you down,

I remember how and when and I wish I were around.

Every now and then.

                                                                               Copyright 1980, Timothy Brickley & David Rheins.

Jeff Chapin: drums.

Bill Moss: bass.

TB: acoustic guitar/vox.