some days were created for stone-washed denim shirts

some days,

usually slow and lazy summer days,

were created for bold and baggy Hawaiian shirts,

drinking buddies with rough-hewn buttons of coconut,

with the  look that sounds like cawing macaws and hula girls,

all to the music of well-told lies and the clink of iced tea glasses.


some days,

usually smoky autumn days,

were created for stone-washed denim shirts,

old friends with fraying cuffs,

with the feel and whiff of bourbon whiskey

and Jack London books read in the warm, warm light

of  a hickory fire.


some days,

usually chill-to-the-bone winter days,

were created for plaid and woolly flannel shirts,

old memories of time ne'er forgotten,

with the scent of tall pines  and the touch of duck's down,

all the while hearing the snore of one's old hunting dog,

sleeping in the peace that only comes at the end of a day.


some days,

usually the green and newborn days of spring,

were created for fresh-pressed cotton shirts,

school boy friends with sweet, young girls on their minds,

like frisky calves kicking up their heels and bike riders showing off,

all while the meadowlarks sing and the robins return,

in the smiling of life and  dreams.




The End

2 comments about this poem Feed