just friends with yoko

if i were hanging around in the art scene
in early nineteen sixties new york
maybe i would be friends with yoko
eventually

we would see each other around no doubt,
at “happenings” and things like that,
and before too long we’d talk and instantly hit it off.
being a dumb kid from canada
i wouldn’t know, at first,
exactly how well-known she is in the art world.
but i would soon find out
and it wouldn’t really matter
cause we would be
well on the way
to being best friends.

and maybe we would make meals together
in little well-lit apartments
and she would tell me all about
japan and surviving bombings
and i’d listen attentively
and slurp up saucy noodles

i would make mildly inappropriate jokes
that piss-off her bohemian friends
but make her laugh
and make her tell me some dirty gossip
about how prudish such-and-such is
after they’ve long gone
and it’s just her and me with the candles
and the last of the wine.

and that’s how it would be
always supporting each other
her laughing at my jokes
me biting my lip and keeping my mouth shut
when anyone talks about fluxus being too similar to dada

i would go to all of her art thingies,
and maybe when she performed ‘cut piece’
i would be the first one up there,
cutting a piece off of her clothing.
or if not the first,
at least i would be
in the top three.

when john comes along
i won’t like it.
and he would never really like me either,
never really get my friendship with yoko,
even though he would hug me,
every
single
time he sees me.
he would always call me “man”
and i would never be sure if he remembered my name.

i’d tell yoko
that i find him arrogant and distant
but even as i say this
i know i’m being unfair
because he’s already famous and in a way
sensitive to mooches
everyone around him always wanting a piece
“it must be difficult,”
i would think
“for people like him
to be able to figure out
real friendships and real love.”

but soon i would see the real love he had.
the whole world would see that,
very publicly.

yoko and i would have a couple fights
and john and i would have a forced
and very awkward night
of “getting to know you” drinks
and everything would settle into place
eventually.

i would, in confidence
tell my other friends
“yeah this beatle of hers is all right,
or at least better than her last husband”.

sometimes i would wonder what
life would be like if i was the true love of yoko’s life
but seeing the real deep love that her and john share
i would know that it would never ever be an issue
and our friendship would endure
and i would be caught up in the whirlwind
along yoko with everyone else.

sometimes i would overhear her
saying cute little things like
“little hands do it again”
when she fixed a tricky button or something.

maybe john wouldn’t even notice
cause he would be too busy
yacking away about art and peace
and other important worldly things
but i would notice
and i would have a chuckle.
“little hands do it again”

and she would notice me noticing
and flash me one of those hilarious protracted winks,
the kind you give to friends who are in on it,
maybe even make a cute
accompanying click with her toungue.

perhaps since there were cameras
around us all the time anyway in those days
i would just so happen to have one too
and catch a snapshot of that wink
and yoko would encourage me
and despite my own reluctance
i would blow the picture up and hang it
and some newly-rich music producer
would come along and buy it

and soon “little hands do it again” would become
one of those standard rock and roll history photos
but the name would be long forgotten
and replaced with “yoko winks”.

the photo would really capture something.
john lennon’s mid sentence profile.
keith richards and eric clapton gorging
on art-opening wine and crackers.
and the whole thing would be
accidentally perfectly framed,
when all i was looking at was yoko.

and the world would get yoko too,
and her misceivous mugging to the camera
but what i couldn’t capture
was that cute little clicking sound.
and mostly i’m glad about it
because that part is still just for me.

the phrase “little hands do it again”
would become a staple in-joke for our friendship
and when either one of us pulled it up
we would both smile warmly
and maybe if we were both a bit bombed
we’d hug and tussle each-others’ hair

inevitably her and john would make a song
using the lyrics “little hands do it again”
and because of my ever-deepening feelings
i would pretend to love
the idea

the song would have the exact same tune
as “particle man”
by the band they might be giants.
a song that was not supposed to be recorded
until nineteen-ninety.

“little hands” would be buried on an album
filled with much better songs.
and to make matters worse
it wouldn’t really be about anything.
although i would hide it,
i would be irked.
everytime i would hear that song later in life,
which would not be very often
i would mutter under my breath
“a nonsense song…god!”

also irked, will be john flansburgh,
who was supposed to have written the tune
some twenty-odd years later.
it will be something he can never
quite put his finger on
and something he will never
quite get over.

poor john.
poor yoko.
at his funeral i would silently speculate
weither he ever wondered about getting killed
and if, while cuddling in bed, ever said to her
“i hope i never get shot and leave you all alone.”
it’s possible, i will conclude
because normal people in love
always say things like
“i promise i will never leave you.” or
“i’m not going anywhere, don’t worry” or
“i never want anything bad to happen to us”.
it would make sense to me
that those two crazy kids,
dreamers like that,
would explore all possible outcomes

this would be the point
where i would find it difficult
to stop crying.

i would think
“stupid john! pulling this all up.”
and i would instantly want to take the thought back.

all that crying
it would be about much more
than john and yoko
or yoko and me
but about everyone:
friends and family,
lovers and lovees,
disappointment.
wonderfull surprise.
the dreams we all build up
and how they all turn out,
and all of the outcomes
that somehow never
really materialize.

Things will never really be the same after that
But maybe one day
much later on
maybe today
i would say to myself
“i havn’t gotten an e-mail
from yoko in a long time”
and i would think
about all the years
and how they pile up
and i would wonder if
somewhere maybe yoko
was thinking the same thing,
powering up her ibook
and getting ready to drop me a line.
“little hands,
do it again.”