it was just past midday,
between the hour of 12 and 1,
when i laid outside in my aged underwear
and enjoyed one of those wakeful stretches
which feels more like a spasm,
atop the fallen wet leaves and still green grass
when a sun-shower shone and washed away
all my lingering summer thoughts.

that's when the mailman approached my mailbox
with that wave like hum of low gear driving,
delivering pulpy reminders of todays date in the real world
and the actual passage of time.