Late June, and I look out
at the walls of the woodshed
crawling with poison ivy.
Licks of maple, oak, ash
I split and stacked last November.
Minerally blue sky after a four day rain.
Low line of green tree tops to the north,
west wind turning the maples’
silver underbellies upside down.
Wet tip of green cigar to lips
as I sip Wild Turkey over ice on the patio.
My wife’s frying shrimp for dinner.
This high pressure system’s
definitely improved my mood.
Sipping straight Kentucky bourbon.
Smoking a green cigar,
the type my father favored
the fifty five years he roamed the earth.
I’ve outlived him.
Weighing short term pleasure against longevity,
I come down on the side of the moment,
record it quick before I go.