Skeeter, my imaginary comical sidekick,

Is much older than me –

60-something,

short, wiry,

with requisite grizzled grey beard,

tangled shoulder-length hair.

***

Actually, he’s as bald

as a turtle’s egg on top,

So he sleeps in his sweat-stained 10-gallon Stetson,

And, of course, his snoring is

wheezily musical.

***

Imaginary comical sidekicks

Are easier to care for than pets.

Because of their invisibility,

You can take them anywhere.

***

On the Metro,

Because he’s invisible,

Skeeter gets sat on a lot.

When some disaffected, slouching

Teen with earbugs plops down,

Skeeter never fails to let loose

a screedy torrent of whispery

G-rated cussin’:

Dagnabbit,

Whippersnapper!

Golly bum!

Watch where you’re sitting!

Ain’t you got no

Consideration?

Pipsqueak!

***

On rainy Saturdays,

We hang out watching old Westerns,

Hopalong Cassidy and Gabby Hayes,

Roy and Dale and Pat Brady —

“Pat’s about as funny as Tonto”,

Skeeter says, and “Tonto’s about

As funny as small pox,” I say —

And we sing together as one,

“Yippy-tie-yo-tie-yay.”