and for lunch eat
fettuccini wrapping the vanilla
strands tight as bird nests in
my hands. I want to lay out in

the sun till I'm golden brown
like a loaf of bread and dip and
splash till I'm waterlogged
and lobster red. Don't call me in

for dinner. I'm listening
to Lynyrd Skynyrd. Big wheels
keep on turning. I'm burning up
the old 45's. It's here I am

alive. The leaves don't fall
off the trees. All I wear is
shorts/no sleeves, flip-
flops and a wide-brim hat,

sitting in a lounge chair with
wooden slats. Sipping frozen
drinks out of paper straws. Life is
better put on pause.