One part cumulus against blue, two green hills,
the innumerable golden tops of highgrass in swagger–

(if Kentucky summer could be bottled
perfect, it would be exactly this). 

Add a necessary creek (but lakewater would do),

and one of those gas station pizzas (fill the tank)
like it’s 1992, close as a rented NES cartridge,
close as the healthy glow from a tanning bed. 

Don’t forget wind-in-drying-hair. Must be

from the back of a truck with a rusted-out bottom.
Sprinkle some orange (knock-off Ray-Bans,
Cheeto dust, the bottles of Crush, afternoon sun–
any kind will do).