Almost to the hours of the day
when the outside begins to disagree
with my enjoyment of fresh air.
The heat can be managed
but it’s the sun’s creeping beyond the eaves above
that starts to bake me in my tattered lawn chair.

The view is nothing spectacular;
a couple restaurants and the liquor store
that kept me well-imbibed during lockdown,
an intersection drivers can’t figure out,
the crossing road not perfectly aligned
sure to spark a road rage showdown.

When the light finally becomes too much
I’ll begrudgingly be chased back inside
and that’s when the rest of the day can begin.
Do I need to go to the store? Is it time for laundry?
Are friends gathering later for some pickleball
or do I just say fuck it and spend the whole day in?

A little bit of day-drinking may be in order
sipped slow to maintain an evened out buzz;
relaxed, but still able to venture out later.
Before that, though, is the sun’s continued crawl
now dropping below the tree line, the returning
of cool air, when the shadows are straighter.

Back out comes the chair, a book to read, a beer
or a glass of wine if I’m feeling fancy.
So begins the next set of hours.
And it will be hours unless social desires call-
the need to be around people tickling my restless-
or until it’s the dark of night that overpowers.

But regardless of where I spend the day’s end,
whether sitting at a bar or laying in bed,
the inching of the skies now belongs to the night.
I’ll soon awake in another rebellion for peace
with dreams of this routine for the rest of my days
content, setting out my chair at morning’s first light.