Mind If I Join You?
The Name-‘s Johnny Walker.-‘
He Extended His Hand.
He Was Tall And Gaunt –
Six Foot Something
And Thin As A Pretzel.
-Ë—visiting The Wife.
Poor Old Thing
Had A Fall Last Week.
Mind You,
She-‘s Pretty Good For 93.-‘
-Ë—excuse Me, John,
But How Old Are You? -‘
-Ë—i Was Ninety Last Birthday.-‘
I Couldn-‘t Believe It.
Sure, There Were A Few
Liver Spots On His Face
And His Dentures
Were Rather Large –
But 90!
-Ë—hearing-‘s Pretty Poor
These Days.
Damn Nuisance.-‘
He Spoke Of Jazz –
Played Piano
From Ear.
Loved Coltraine And Bill Evans.
Rattled Off A String Of Titles.
Then Just Before He Left
He Mentioned
(Quite Casually)
The Tiger Moth
He’d Flown On His 90th Birthday.
-Ë—hadn-‘t Been In One Since The War.
Such A Thrill To Loop The Loop Again.-‘
He Left Shortly Afterward.
Strode Down The Corridor,
Hands Clasped Firmly Behind His Back.
Johnny Walker.
Quite A Man