I Miss Ike

I wish he lived next door, and dropped over at all hours, to meet my dates when I went out, to steal food, to talk to about anything and everything, to sit around and drink chick beer with, to vlog me at my best and worst, to borrow quarters for the laundry machinces from, to kiss on the nose, to steal his jokes, to remind me of my good qualities when I've forgotten them, to take road trips with, to jump in the pool with late at night half-drunk for no reason, to drink red tea with on the balcony, to throw parties with, to tell me 'oh, honey, no' when I buy some hideous shirt, to run away to Bunny's with for dinner, to give me a hug when I really want a nice manly shoulder to cry on but don't want to make out with anyone, to be my 'make everyone jealous of my handsome date' date, to randomly take up painting with, to know me and my face and expressions and mannerism so well that twenty years from now when I fly to South Africa for his wedding with my nine children and step off the plane Ike will take one look at me and instantly say, "You're happy, I can tell."