Because Baby Bruno’s parents are Deadheads,
we buy him Dancing Bears tops: laughing
bruins tumbling all over each other.
We imagine Bruno resplendent
in the new shirt he’ll most likely
outgrow in a few weeks,
so we can buy him something as whimsical:
good natured as Jerry before heroin
and the heart attack finished him.
But no need to dwell on sad things,
when the Dead gave Beth and me
so much pleasure for so long,
especially the last time we took in a show:
one dad cradling his infant and grooving
around RFK Stadium that July afternoon,
while the kid bubbled to the music,
in his own little heaven:
a paradise I wish for Baby Bruno.
