Bill

He smokes a pipe dangles

it from his mouth like a pacifier

Eating he leaves crumbs on

his face his lap the floor

He is Groucho Marx with his

black framed glasses and moustache

loves old New Orleans jazz

dance – shuffles to Bessie Smith:

“Gimme a pigfoot and a bottle of beer”

His fingers are bent from hurled softballs

his teeth brown from neglect

He drinks Jack Daniels and soda

loves chocolate and pies

leaves tobacco everywhere

can’t stand being late

He issues orders to family

and friends and anyone

who is there

He takes you out to dinner

flies first class wears a

red cashmere sweater with holes

When I was a child he was playful

made treasure hunts played Superman

his beach towel a cape

He taught me softball and Scrabble

told scary stories teared up

at sappy movies

Now he walks with a walker

slams it down when angry

has pee stains on his pants

He’s going deaf but denies it

plays solitaire with cards

grimy gray and worn

He becomes melancholy at twilight

And now since my mother’s death

his cat Zorro and the orphan moon

are his only nocturnal companions.

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