Hot Nine

Sitting cross legged on an upturned bucket Back sagging against stubborn rough barked old maple Edges of soles twisting socked feet from worn shoes Plastic circled reinforcing cutting patterns into buttocks The shade combined with sudden breeze refreshes As it cools the sweat wet faded tie dyed tee shirt Holding the wet cold bottle dripping onto a bare knee He squints toward the ever present cat pretending to ignore him These are the long hot days of late Summer The grass is high and green in places flat and brown in others Cloth has worn and torn from the backyard golf course poles Putting is easier on the dried moss greens Soon the vegetable garden will wither and dry To reveal at least a dozen lost balls The surrounding swamp is less forgiving The ice cold water slides to cool his innards The cat stretches to lick dusty fur The pool sirens tauntingly beckon