BBQ - by Vera
"Of course you're invited," he said
yesterday.
But Lon is chinking bottles round the grill
with Da Boys,
his back to me,
that wide-stance arms-folded rocking posture
guys all do together.
Oh, he gestured with his elbow
to the cooler of beers,
before sweeping gracefully
back again to the posse.
Hospitality at its shortest.
And sitting alone,
I find to my horror
I'm picking up pebbles and tossing them -
the ultimate in
"I'm Friendless" entertainment.
Time to take off,
before I flounder in the webbing
of his low-slung chair.
Stretching,
I fling one last rock
toward Lon's feet
and saunter away back down-trail,
whistling.
