by Colin James
Our neighbors sun themselves indiscriminately.
See the after affects,
the linear contortions as chaise lounges buckle.
Oars replace legs,
to stand with the rows of canes
near the pool-house study.
We can sit quietly
our buttocks clutching the seats width,
until it’s time to dine
and I hold you like a drink.
Colin James lives in Massachusetts but used to live in England. He works in Energy Conservation. He has poems forthcoming in Oysters And Chocolate, Calliope Nerve and The Tower Journal.
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