Names are fitting first introductions
yours has always been apt:
The noisy fight
smelling of tequila salting the night.
Fiction that wears away
ever encroaching mundane
with a kindness that's cutting and
the witt and will to distribute it
Equally—
to the poor, rich man
to the poorer pauper

Your are the man I want to be
possessing extravagant pageantry
between lips lined in fantasy.
striving to be more
eclipsing wonted folklore.

tired hands shaping rasping life
in pewter clay
elusive, with grace aboriginal
a queen mother
holding blurry eyed individuals
in quite moments of joy.

Your weazing, rasping old soul
yawing knowledge I try to emulate
sitting on humble concrete
laying back content to commiserate
gazing fervent into time moving fast
like dusk all too soon to elapse.

© Fae Hilscher