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
Silence
Snubbed
Sixty-five
beamed Hoot
Ya look eighty
snapped the fogy
going back to scrambled eggs
We hooted our heads off
and Hoot re-hatted.