I had no

realization

you checked-out

earlier, `

or rather later

in September

this year

before finishing

your plate of scrambled eggs

& that rather tall

drink of whiskey.

Again,

my apologies

on missing your passing,

from one poet to another,

this year has been stranger

than most before

and there’s always room

for more than a share

but too many

I’ve missed consciously

while trying

for some kind of balance

but I guess 

we both know 

that is all part of the recipe: 

scrambled eggs’ comfort

with a sharp tongue

or a mellow smooth

to wash it back

or rather

so your tummy

doesn’t flip-flop

on just the whiskey, eh.

I’d go on

but presently  

I’m outta balance,

writing my way

back into myself

without all that

gobbledy-goop involved,

but then . . .

you knew

scrambled eggs & whiskey.