JOHN

Singing in the kitchen--making homemade bread and tea,
Serving stilton--in his kilt--on New Year's Eve,
Keeping all the golf balls clean in the washing machine,
Sharing harvest from his garden--with great pride,
Catching trout beneath the ice, with Michael at his side, safely tied.

Yet what I remember most--he was a lavish, gallant host;
He opened wide his doors to hordes and hordes of carnivores
With Shirley at the table in accord.

Their table was a global sounding board--
For Europeans, Eritreans, Rastafarians, Libertarians,
Lebanese, Vietnamese, a Chinese Texan;
Mexicans, Indians, deluded young Republicans,
Bridge players, tennis players, covens of soothsayers--
Emigrants and indigents, artisans and duffers,
Musicians, foreign film buffs,
And me.
********

John, John, get your golf shoes on.
You drive the cart and we'll all find the park
Where the clubhouse is a pub called Fairfield Country Club
And gardenias are in bloom on all the tees.
Although it might be noon there's a magic August moon
And the eagles and the birds convene on every green.

The call of bagpipes and bassoon stirs the air.
Please save some mealy pudding.
I'll be there.