July 18, 2026
The crowd was mostly well over sixty
and just south of death
in assorted sizes and shapes
and conditions of decrepitude.
pot bellies and bald heads, razor cut perfection,
casual neglect and stray ponytails,
baseball caps here and there bills forward,
beards wispy and well tended,
golf course tans, and ashen pallor,
Hawaiian shirts, commemorative T's,
no faux hippie tie dye in sight,
Shorts, jeans, and what might be pajama bottoms.
Ladies as slender as runway models
and plump as babushkas,
hair dyed and coifed or left defiantly gray,
simple print sun dresses, night out to the nines,
and any old thing at all.
All paired up in unexpected combinations
or lonely lurkers in the crowd.
Once we were all young and beautiful,
bopping out in smokey dive bars,
at sun drenched street festivals,
in cavernous old ballrooms,
or benefits at the Wobbly Hall.
As Corky got down and wailed on the mouth harp,,
we closed our eyes and for a moment
were once again.
--Patrick Murfin
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