The back porch creaks of age

as feet press a voice from its surface.

A song from a guitar keeps time

with the sway of lazy moss.

Crickets hungry for noise, satisfy

the appetite of their energy.


Dusty shoes got the soul of tapping,

slapping the ground with the beat of toes

and heels; music brushes their hair

as they set back with whiskey cooling

under their skin.


The sad closed eyes of a dog waiting

for death to throw the last stick,

lifts a crooked tail when his masters

guitar breathes a song on him.






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