he's ninety-six today

it doesn't seem possible

that he would

live this long

with all the drinking 

and mischief,

the smoking,

the women and brawls.

all those fast cars,

all that bad food

and whiskey.

and yet, here he is

at ninety-six, still 

on the phone, still opening

the door,

his body

a cookie falling apart

in the glass of milk.

his eyes blurred,

his hearing gone.

but the mind saying,

not yet,

not yet.

the game is still on.