Poem for Jim

i was talking to my mother over some wine
last night
while my dear friend daniel galucki tended bar

we were talking about my dead grandfather
who liked to dance
drink
bowl
drink
golf
drink
sing
drink
and drink

he was a stubborn bastard
a WWII sailor
he crashed his car into the hedge
after bowling night
just as scottish as irish
but he claimed pure irish till his death
he said:
"drink, or gamble. pick one or the other;
never choose both."
he loved my grandmother
but i'm not sure she loved him
he fixed things with wire and tape
he was cheap
and
i respected him

James E. Gibbons
or Jim to his friends
who had a stroke at 83 or maybe 84?
i think it was the year 2000, but i could be wrong
up until then he had been sharp
when they took his keys away so he couldn't drive
he would just fetch one of the sets he had hidden around the house
and go for a spin
they finally put a club on his car

and after his stroke
he lay in a hospital bed for a week
every day he asked my mother to take him home
he couldn't walk at the time
and my grandmother was incapable of caring for him
so, they were going to take him to a nursing home the next day
he knew this
so he pulled the oxygen mask from his face
and while no one was around
he died at his own hand

i still respect him
more than ever.