I hope old Schooner’s all right.
He looked a little cranky last time.
He knew something was coming down the pike.
Birds know. They have a crystal ball.
They foresee earthquakes, tsunamis.
He must have foreseen the sale of the pub
& the old drive-thru that housed his Taj Mahal
of a cage where he held court. Customers
would stop by for a chat and when they were done
he would rasp in his Tom Waits voice, See Ya!
I liked his magisterial presence. I hope he’s okay
wherever he is. Each Friday at the pub I raise a glass
To old Schooner. Here’s to you! I say. Stay cocky, dude.