On his porch the fickle man rest
Wrinkled and worn
Like a blue collar wallet

He watches the day pass
Vicariously through the youth of the block
Often pondering his dog days

He reads his morning paper
To the sound of neighboring dogs howls
Growing annoyed, he howls back
Owwwww!

Wise to the humid day
He finishes his chores early, pulling out a rag
Wiping the sweat from his forehead
He sits back down to a long awaited Budweiser

Watching the neighbors come home
He smiles, back to the kiss of his late wife
What freedom she gave after a long day

After supper he settles down for dusk
Reaching for his radio
Tuning into the ball game
Pirates up two, bottom of the fifth

On his porch the man rest
Wrinkled and worn
Watching the sunset
Cherishing his every breath