The two-tone man

jenny’s best friend is a two-tone man.
they met at the shore with their hands in the sand
and their salty smiles and waterskis
and they lit cigarettes to swim in the sea.

the two-tone man had a two-tone door
in his two-tone house in the summer by the shore.
jenny passed through it, jenny was lost –
said “a friendship’s worth only as much as it costs.”

they beachcombed all summer for horseshoe crabs.
the two-tone man could always get a cab.
and they’d ride through the city with jenny’s hair down.
he was always around. he was always around.

in the winter the man, he had snow and sleds.
he slept out of sight in a quilted bed.
his Pennsylvania wife was white and red
with a lace blue apron and a shrunken head
and her pantry was stocked with mops and jams
and locked to keep out her two-tone man.
her two-tone husband still loves his jam.
he nicks it whenever he can.

jenny’s best friend is a two-tone man.
he’ll be back when the summer sizzles the sand.
jenny loves chocolate and she loves the ocean
she loves her life here, she can always go boating

and the calendar clings to her bamboo wall
as the months bleed by and softly fall
while outside the markets are shouting all year
and it’s snowing somewhere, but there’s always sun here.

jenny guts fish, the pink wife strains berries
jenny goes swimming, the wife feeds the canary.
he’ll be back when the summer sizzles the sand.
he won’t think of the woman he married for jam.
by the sea he is jenny’s. he’s her two-tone man.