Short Sunhat Poems

Most elderly ladies
shine under a straw sunhat.

At the arboretum,
sitting under an Ash tree
(the same Ash
that she had sex under,
when she was old enough
to know better).

She leans back
on the scaled trunk
smiling at George,
who is not at all dead to her,
nor Harry, or Jim,

but at this moment
she is content to tuck them all
under her skirt
like a mother hen,
 
To smile 
at the youngsters that pass-by
believing they know
anything about love....

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