Saturday, June 27, 2009


Tucked under my arm
a volume, a new edition
penned by a favored author.

A Summer Saturday
sanguine and serene,
sunshine abounding.

My lawn chair, half reclined,
cushioned and shaded,
beckoning an occupant.

Icy beverage,
splendid sweetness,
sweating condensation.

I sit supine
legs elevated
comfort seeking.

Ray-Ban's lowered,
sipping, slurping,
book poised and ready.

Summer sounds surround,
a lark's languid song,
leaves restlessly rustling.

Children's shouts
fade into the distance,
a bark of a lazy dog.

A motorcycle whines,
auto engines revving
to decibels most distracting.

Mowers and weed whackers,
a domestic dispute from
the neighboring yard.

And me, sitting in my silence
turning page after page
engrossed in published excellence.

Three chapters later
I finally notice the church bells
tolling the hour, God's doorbell.

Six O'clock and
a summer Sunday looms,
where more brilliance awaits.

I down my tea,
tucking my tome under the crook
of a bent elbow. One hell of a read!

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