I drive by to see if he is out on the patio

or by the bench in the sun

Statued in stony white

Taking in some rays

Getting warmth while he can

If he is

I stop in  to have a smoke

Time is short so I don't stay long

Just a brief stay

Like the spring breeze

Just long enough to have been there

And then gone

There isn't much left to him these days

A man once

But

The pain meds have him in a fog most of the time

Fading in and out

Clouded like mist

But he still has spirit

One last fight

He's holding out now for St. Paddy's day

He heard that there's a party at a nearby club

And he plans on being there

I hope he makes it

If he does

I'll be his ride

And we'll have

One last day of being Irish