He wants to be out jogging
along the trails and cycling

on the roads, which he can
do even during a pandemic

but two important surgeries
have left him gingerly pulling

weeds from the dune grass
which come out of the sand,

thank the Lord, like knives
slicing through melting butter

at a picnic on a hot day in July.
He pulls, rests, pulls, rests,

pulls, rests and asks, “Honey,
can we have that hot July pic-

nic in the air-conditioned house
while we watch reruns of NCIS:

New Orleans?” “Sure, don’t
overdo it. Come in now and I’ll

get you an ice-cold IPA.” “Thank
you, Jesus, er, I mean dear.”