Gazing at shadows that pass by in limbo
As my old aspidestra wilts by the window
No comfort, no paddle. Without inspiration
In sheer desperation I ask myself ‘What would she do?’
I ask ‘What would Susan do?’

Headstrong and mutinous, time-worn but youthful
A prick on my conscience you were never less than truthful
And there was more passion in one of your fingers
Than a whole compilation of broken-heart singers like me

Putting your neck on each line that was drawn
Charging through battles ‘til bloody and torn
Laughing outrageously, raging outlandishly
No net no parachute, laughing as you bring them down, down, down
But crying as they hit the ground

I think of you often at home or at work
Full steam ahead like the Bierly Turk
Smiling. Inspiring the green shoots from charcoal
And to just be myself only more-so, exactly like you

A beautiful nuisance, shouting abuse
At the walls you bump into
Shooting the messenger down
Laughing as you take them down, down, down
But crying as you hit the ground