Friday, May 4, 2012

Tale of Three Bobs

All sitting at the same table

At different times and different days, all so different

With nothing in common except for that table and that chair

Perhaps a friend or two

Or an appreciation of a good strawberry rhubarb pie

And a vow and a look of a clock on his face

Tick, tick, tick…

All shying away from the well-deserved award

For that youthful milkshake code of honor

That they took when it was all they had 

Or all they cared about

Beyond the monotony of life,

Through the tears of a good snort and chortle

The code remained to the end.

As a witness watches

The corner chair at the corner table

For three years in a row

Swallowing one by one by eternity

Before they could swallow another sip of coffee

Writing it all down as it happens the same

Every time, every year, three years in a row

To three Bobs

And the scribe warily greets the fourth man, 

Who smiles and says 

Hi, I’m Gil,

And all mirrored the smile

Sighing with relief until

He says that he uses his middle name,

Because he knew three too many Bobs.

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