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.