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As
sick
and
unhappy
as
he
was
,
Bill
just
didn
’
t
look
like
somebody
who
was
about
to
die
.
There
were
many
deaths
like
that
and
even
though
we
knew
about
death
and
thought
about
it
almost
every
day
,
when
there
was
an
unexpected
death
,
and
when
that
person
was
an
exceptional
and
lovable
human
being
,
it
was
hard
,
very
,
no
matter
how
many
other
people
had
died
,
good
,
bad
or
unknown
.
I
phoned
Cecelia
back
that
night
,
and
I
phoned
her
again
the
next
night
,
and
once
more
after
that
,
and
then
I
stopped
phoning
.
A
month
went
by
.
R
.
A
.
Dwight
,
the
editor
of
Dogbite
Press
wrote
and
asked
me
to
do
a
foreword
to
Keesing
’
s
Selected
Poems
.
Keesing
,
with
the
help
of
his
death
,
was
at
last
going
to
get
some
recognition
somewhere
besides
Australia
.
Then
Cecelia
phoned
.
"
Hank
,
I
’
m
going
to
San
Francisco
to
see
R
.
A
.
Dwight
.
I
have
some
photos
of
Bill
and
some
unpublished
things
.
I
want
to
go
over
them
with
Dwight
and
we
’
re
going
to
decide
what
to
publish
.
But
first
I
want
to
stop
in
L
.
A
.
for
a
day
or
two
.
Can
you
meet
me
at
the
airport
?
"
"
Sure
,
you
can
stay
at
my
place
,
Cecelia
.
"
"
Thanks
much
.
"
She
gave
me
her
arrival
time
and
I
went
in
and
cleaned
the
toilet
,
scrubbed
the
bathtub
and
changed
the
sheets
and
pillow
cases
on
my
bed
.
Cecelia
arrived
on
the
10
am
flight
which
was
hell
for
me
to
make
,
but
she
looked
good
,
albeit
a
bit
plump
.
She
was
sturdy
,
built
low
,
she
looked
midwestern
,
scrubbed
.
Men
looked
at
her
,
she
had
a
way
of
moving
her
behind
;
it
looked
forceful
,
a
bit
ominous
and
sexy
.
We
waited
for
the
baggage
in
the
bar
.
Cecelia
didn
’
t
drink
.
She
had
an
orange
juice
.
"
I
just
love
airports
and
airport
passengers
,
don
’
t
you
?
"
