A baby boy was born in the parking lot of a motel
Under a full moon
Howling.

He had a name, but it was never once spoken aloud.
And his Mother died in the back of that cab due to
Complications.

He grew up with a different name
But his friends called him Fatso
And he worked as a clerk at a gas station not too far from where we’re at now.

One day,
Hungry men in funny masks held him at gun point
And emptied out the register
Called him Fatso
And left him his cut out by the dumpster
Just like they promised they would.

They wrote his name on the envelope,
Or at least they thought they did,
But they didn’t know his name 
And neither did he.

Fatso paid off his landlord 
And the girls he liked to look at on his phone
And went to bed but not to sleep.

Fatso died some years later
In the back of a taxi on his birthday
Just like his Mother
And then the Great Work called out to him
He didn’t recognize the name.

Heaven knows us by our names,
And we must oblige.