is a serious man
who doesn’t care much for children.
He is still single
in-between women and loves his imported beer
although not quite as much as he did in his youth.
At fifty two, he wears thick eyeglasses.
Dark blond and blue eyed, his pock marked skin is clean shaven.
He wears an aloha shirt and loose tan shorts for evenings out
complete with white crew length socks and a clean pair of deck shoes
inadequately concealing his portly frame.
He hoards his money
installing razor wire fences around prisons,
this has been quite lucrative over the years.
In his spare time he looks through the real estate ads
and waits for that special parcel
in a neighboring state, not too far from his Mother,
who is eighty two now, an ex smoker burdened with emphysema.
He has many friends.
One has a Hawaiian themed backyard complete with swimming pool
around which preside Tikis which he carved by hand from oak, cherry and other hard woods.
At the intricately carved bar
blowfish twirl from suji fishing lines and swim
in the heavy air
bright with white lights stuffed into their diaphanous round bellies.
Voracious mosquitoes thickly blanket this upstate New York town
underwhelmed by the lack of trade winds or repellant
overwhelming his cousin, Crystal.
It occurs to me That I require an ideal To summit these peaks. Something more than a patch. My tenacity shouts above my perception Shooting ...