My great uncle Webb
     never
     wrote a poem, I
     could hide my finger
     in his wrinkles, and
     he had giant floppy ears
     and
     loved the Yankees. He said
     they couldn't lose with
     Maris and Mantle.

     My great unlce Webb lived
     with his sister, and
     worked in a laundry, he
     pressed clothes.
     I remember the machine
     and the steam

     My great uncle Webb drove
     the same car
     for
     twenty years, and
     when he died, we
     all wanted it, and
     it was in
     perfect
     condition

     My great uncle Webb
     never married, he
     drove slowly
     in
     the middle of the road, and
     settled at night
     into his special chair.

     My great uncle Webb
     never
     wrote a poem.
     He had that in
     common
     with God.
     I bet they're watchin' the Yankees
     right
     now

- David Jackson