It’s the middle of August in Vermont,
one of those few rare sunny times
when the temp gets up around ninety
for more than two consecutive days.
He’s acutely aware of all the hot girls
on Main Street in halter tops and shorts,
in sandals and sunglasses; and he’s
glad to be alive, an old man in a shady café,
sipping iced tea and still breathing,
seeing the sights in the end-of-summer air.