The person for whom Frank Avon is a pseudonym is 77 years old - and has been for some time. It sounds like a lucky number, so he feels he might as well stick with it for a while. He was an educator for 45 years, and is now retired, though not graciously, for he misses teaching every single day. He has written thousands of poems, but has never permitted any of them to be published (except for a few that one of his former students persuaded him to allow her to use in a professional journal, for which she was poetry editor) . Many of his students, however, are prize-winning poets, novelists, short story writers, essayists, and scholars. As a poet and teacher of poetry, this is the pride of his life.
Nowadays he spends his time working crosswords, playing solitaire, pruning and pulling weeds in his yard, and whining about old age. He has been married to an ideal wife for over fifty years: they have five children, literally scattered all over the globe, and five grand-children. They also have a raggle (rat terrier + beagle) named Peanut who runs their lives, and every so often demands that a poem be written about him. Frank Avon always complies.
The scores are evening up:
I'm now behind
57 to 49
not a bad alignment
...
Let there be no snow
save in paintings
as by a window framed
in the palace of their love.
...