I’m in. 
A rocking chair on my front porch 
The sun has relinquished its reign
To the rain. For a little while this 
bad side of town is a poor mans therapy
No couch needed
Just that creaking
Of my chair riding uneven red slats 
To no where in particular
June winds that buffalo through the leaves 
Of tulip poplars and black locusts standing
At attention under a counterclockwise sky