Cliff

We sat out on his old wooden porch

A tongue lapping shade from the day,

This hot desert day dissolving like shimmering rain

All around us, but we didn’t mind.

We held our coffee cups, squinting

At the brilliant white adobe house across the street

And we talked as if old friends,

This man, his brother and me

A gentle soul who lived a hard life

With his garagefull of treasured steel beasts;

With a twinkle in his eye

With a near-boundless acceptance

Of the hand he’d been dealt.

The particulates fell, fell, fell from the sky.

He got up and disappeared through the screen door

To get us more coffee.