For J.G.
I asked my friend Jim (down at the beach bench
Where we sit, weary, watching the sun set),
If he worked crosswords. “Not now, no,” quenching
Abysmal thirst with beer, sucking the wet,
Slim, tired roach that passed from hand to hand.
“I used to be addicted, but gave up
Some time ago.” “Pity,” I mused, “one strand
Of plugged-in folk think working words may stop
Dementia, or, at least, slow it down.”
His gray-blue eyes, at the same time twinkling
And sad, widened—with thin lip twisted frown
Hiding a grin: “Marv, you have no inkling,
No clue at all! Why would I act to stave
Off dementia, the happy state I crave!”
(7/8/08)