||In the evening he was there.
In the early morning likely not.
Seven aces his last call? That's a lot.
My God, does he really have them?
"Honor among thieves," he would say.
"Hey, keep an eye out for that golden light."
It's not slipping away swiftly, tonight.
Whose call is it anyway?
That's some first light you'll command.
Cuts a finer horizon line than a West Coast day.
Say, has anybody challenged yet?
The Count has eight, he croons, operatic style.
He might actually win this bet.
When you play a heavenly hand,
you get to lie with impunity about the digits
on your stack of greenback bills, and laugh and play,
and tease a little too, smiling all the while.
We, here holding mortal bills,
can only do our best to muster one more round.
Oh that we could once again recline
with fresh bills from your proud and mighty pile,
always near at hand wherever you would go.
Make that ten aces! What's that from up on cloud nine?
I know, you're right Tom, we don' t have them,
but perhaps this one time, wishing would make it so.
Goodnight Mr. Golden Light.
Goodnight and God's Speed.
(Psst-psst. Four more aces, that's all I need)
Poem and Page by
Roger Bodo in memory of Tom Rickey,1999
Special thanks to the ever gracious and kind Diane Rickey
sending this wandering copywriter her note and the above
of Tom and her.
Say hi to John VanDagen, Sheldon Moyer, Ken
Stella and Jim Gentile, and all the other D. P. Brother
you happen to bump into.