USF: Hoot Gibson

Three in the morning at Bob’s Drive-In
across Stanyan from Golden Gate Park

Empty fountain except for
a waitress
and two geezers
four stools apart

Gilmour and I
in a booth at the window
college brats

Hooted at the codger
wearing a cowboy hat
     (in San Francisco?)
dubbed him Hoot

Hoot hoisted his silly hat in the air
smiling broadly to the other duffer

How old d’ya think I am


beamed Hoot

Ya look eighty
snapped the fogy
going back to scrambled eggs

We hooted our heads off
and Hoot re-hatted.