Not a quart of iced tea,
chilly beads of sweat tracking down its sides,
pooling on the green formica.
They drink a toast to the sun and the breeze
from inside enameled lattice,
turn up etched glasses between
icy stares
and contorted
smiles.
He spies a squirrel prancing
limb to limb in a tree in the lawn they share.
She fancies the diamond maze of sun rays
piercing through onto the worn floor.
Both follow a robin's flight upward.
His eyes dart to the house once the bird tops the trees.
Her gaze is steady,
soars like Daedalus.
Posted inPoetry
Gazebo
