THE OLD FUCKS CLUB

In those ebuillent, carefree,
serious as cancer, full of shit,
sixties, while driving
I'd see a car approaching
from the other side of the road,
and, as he drew near,
he'd flash
his highbeams at me.
And in the spirit
of comradery,
I'd flash him back.
We were part
of an unstated club
of Porsche drivers
and nothing more
need be said.

Now, I'd be walking
concentrating mostly
on what was in front
of my next step,
but also what awaited me
further on as well.
I'd see coming up
on a cane or walker,
fingers gripped
& knuckles white,
sometimes with a friend or attendent,
another old fuck,
and as we neared,
measuring each hard fought
& precious step,
we'd look up
into each other's eyes
& smile,
or nod,
or shake our head,
wondering where
it all went
& to where next
we were going?

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2019