He insisted on reviewing my writings.
After four weeks he stopped.
He cannot stand crowded airports,
And would not fly unless someone offered $2,000,000,
At that price he could rent a fast jet and avoid airport
traffic
And find a worthy charity for the balance.
Glenn is not rich but has enough.
Besides, we’ve had a wealth of adventures,
All good, sometimes really special.
In a small village near Oxford
We dug for traces of mammoths and man,
Finding both and much more.
We empowered each other.
I wrote poetry, he wrote a song.
The oldest guys on the voluntary dig,
We complimented each other’s irreverence.
His comments remain funny.
I think he is running on memory.
Glenn is almost transparent,
As though he were losing substance…
While cracking wise.
Perhaps this poem is a prayer?
I hope for good conversations
Where wit is essential
And wisdom,… not so much.
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