And You Made Just Like Churchill

The word is they found you dead last night,
alone .on the porch of your Eastside digs,
a warm Crème de Cacao beside a hardbound
of Truman Capote’s ‘Portraits and Observations’.

Ahh, bu’ ya’ ‘ad a God-Good run, chum, ya’ did-
(to use your own endearing cliche) did ya’ not?

Sailing your pin-striped sunfish ‘cross the Bay
the low, flaming cherry…dripping from the west,
upon pink liquid salt as August sunset’s must
ridin’ eve’s silver ripple til Sun became the Moon.

We’d anxiously wait along Saint Lawrence Pier
as you pulled into dock, and quietly took a seat,
telling us tales as long as the Seaway itself,
painting wide smiles that stretched out our lips;
and the time moved so fast.

And, you had a good run said so yourself,
the morn Doc Quinn sat you down with grim-face
sent you home with prescription for cordials;
…God, the time went so fast!

And, i don’t think i’ll ever forget the stunned faces
when you’d slump down into your wingback chair,
tell them all how life is only worth living ‘ALIVE’,
…and you made just like Churchill,
bellowing .at their blank stares,
reaching .into your vest pocket,
revealing that solid gold lighter,
flicking the last of its fire water,
kissing .the tip of your fat stogie,
endulging its flavour with grandeur

And, we miss you quite much August comes once again,
because in spite of all the memories, stories and laughter-
The late days of Summer are so long .and evertoo quiet.

This morning .while watching the Sun take its place
I saw a crisp-moving sunfish ‘cross The Bay, before me-

Not a single pinstripe what a shame.

_______________ F j R _______________