An exercise to release writer’s block
Originally Posted by greenmountaineer
Sight: high noon sun
Sound: delivery truck horn
Taste: any kind of ice cream cone
Smell: Hibachi meat
Touch: porch railing
Suddenly September reveals itself
steel grey clouds and dreary rain;
it’s twelve o'clock, but the sun is hidden.
I lean against the damp deck railing
a Brown truck’s backup horn pierces
the distant din of traffic, but at least
it's not one of those damned drones.
Too wet for the Hibachi but
the propane grill will work.
Chicken roasted on the rotisserie,
beans, late summer corn and
apple crisp with vanilla ice cream.
I can taste it now.
A feast for the return of
a non-prodigal son, briefly back
from the Arctic before he’s off again
this time to Berkley, leaving us alone
again but at least there won't be leftovers.
Sight: a paunch that won’t go away
Sound: labored breathing
Taste: tepid water with a hint of lemon
Touch: a puff of air from a rotating fan