Musty Sundays

musty Sundays skirt the river’s bank, we

catch the breezes, letting

snarls of laughter hiccup o’er lapping ripples from the boats

shade sighs here and there in speckles ‘bove our sun-bleached locks

while runners’ steps give rhythm to ever rustling green in this hot air

sweat forms beads along my back bone, at least

while one goose guards the shoreline

left leg lifted and the other stabilizing, right eye tilted towards heavens, blue and white

you and I take in moments of quiet contemplance

of this fine day in early May

of pancake brunches after service and

long concrete sidewalks to what patch of beach remains to take our rest

and conversations ’bout life as twentysomethings, a goose, and a breeze

this muggy, sunny, Sunday, quarter to one in the afternoon

summer’s come to greet us well before the month of June

 

 

 

Copyright © 2018 A.M. Wilsonne

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