where's hank

he loved to grille.

to put his apron on, his tall

white hat

and stand by the heated

smoke

on the patio

flipping meat.

patties and sausages.

chicken legs.

vegetables for the girls.

it was his go to place

for the party.

no time to make small talk,

no time to join

the crowd, to

sit down and drink.

he kept his beer in hand.

guzzling while he cooked.

a cooler at his feet.

his face red.

his eyes blurred.

you could always find him

there, when you arrived.

where's Hank?

you'd ask, and someone

would point with a thumb,

he's out back.

cooking.