Garfunkel Poem by Mike Finley

Your eyes fly into his eyes,
Whose sparkle has always been
highly improbable.
Maybe he stares into the spotlights
to get them that way,
But wouldn’t that render him blind?
And the contrast is remarkable,
From Paul standing at his side,
Eager to be forgiven for
his many kinds of shortness
And he would write a thousand songs to make it
better.
But Art requires nothing
You can wad him up and throw him away
For ten years at a shot,
Then hauled back for an impromptu in the park.
He seems not to mind his ridiculous hair,
His ridiculous hairline,
His ridiculous voice.