The end of a long Saturday, last one
In January. He kicks off both running
Shoes, greets his toes waking
To this luxurious unshod freedom,
Leans back in the easy chair, the one
Tucked in a corner, upholstery
The color of tobacco, of lizards
Living in strange deserts, picks up
A plastic pen from the carpet and writes
Lines in the journal from Ana purchased
In Peru as a car chugs and groans
Up the long slope behind his simple
Home on such a simple night. Toes
Cavort thoughtlessly, a cavalier few
Start to soar, as the pen drops
To the floor.
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