Not Long Ago



I sat at the table

with three old men

with friendly curses,

first in Spanish,

then repeated in English

when they remembered

I didn’t understand.



I never learned Spanish,

but I took to the bones,

the white dominoes

with the silver spinner.



Beer and rum

for outdoor Florida heat

one by one

they left.



Now me, the kid,

an old man

with three empty chairs.



I was in my twenties,

now approaching

sixty-two,

I miss the clack of bone

on concrete patio tables

I miss those old men.