Gentlemen and Players

We are long in tooth,

we meet at funerals, wakes and memorials,

some’s hair is long,

some have none.

Backs are stooped,

faces lined:

some of us limp.

Knees, hips, ankles:

old bones complain,

but we do not.

We have worn the shite-hawk:

we have served in deserts,

inhospitable places, some more than others,

but none said no.

Passes weren’t dropped,

tackles were made.

No true sport is war

by other means,

no armistice was celebrated

by so very much drink.

We are thirty years older:

we meet at beer calls, games and reunions,

all of us remain,

including those who’ve gone.