MY OLD MAN WAS
ANGRY
when he died.
There was no
clenched
fist, but just:
“Goddam it,
I’m dying!”
Christ, I wept,
You had to love
him. . .
After a lunch of
martinis,
Margaux and rare
beef,
He was arrested
(at
seventy-three)
on a
drunk-driving charge
that cost him
eighty-three
dollars. .
.Jesus! did he
get mad at the
judge!
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