Finley has a close friend named Rich Broderick.
On more than one occasion I have heard him thoughtfully refer to Rich as his brother.
For years these 2 men have served as each others therapist by exchanging opinions while walking dogs.
Rich is a stellar poet too.
I remember last year, just before leaving to Thailand Rich finished a poetry book entitled "Rain Dance".
So Mike threw a party for Rich at the Finley estate, and all the most important poets and peeps from the Twin Cities attended.
Finley's house is really big, kinda old....the type of place a Jimmy Stewart character would live. The highlight of the evening was when Broderick stood on the staircase landing between the 1st and second floor and read his poems to us.
The following poem by Rich really struck a chord in me......
Down in the basement, dead fathers move about
Bumping their heads on exposed beams
Trying without success to pick up tools
From their dusty workbench
If their words could reach us
They'd ask for hot coffee and a smoke
If their words could reach us, they'd tell us how much
They regret having deployed the squadron of bombers
That drones overhead in our dreams every night
They long to upgrade their circuit breaker
Replace the stained tile, paint the foundation red
But instead, all they can do is eye an empty pack Of cigarettes crumpled in the corner
Then go back to searching for the blueprints to the family room that never got built