hammock days
(the relax, not the circus)
under the mosquito net
on top of the shade umbrella
a perfect
Bronx
morning

~~~

it feels weird
writing morning
poems
on a deck
so far from
the regular
place

but fuck it,
it’s
lovely

~~~

the soft netting
weaves
in the breeze

(you don’t need to find any metaphors,
comparisons
or similes
that it is like;
it is just itself)

the bird calls
intermingle
with the spotify playlist
of classical
(or indie)
(or ‘garden music’)
(whatever that means)

and the netting hides us from
the other creatures
who call our yard
home

~~~

is the mosquito netting
hiding us
from the squirrels and birds and other such wildlife
or are the animals simply getting used to our
presence?

(or does it matter
when the morning
is this
damn
gorgeous
?)

~~~

and what of the sun
not shaded
by the umbrella?

(to burn
or not to burn,
that is the question.)
(and sunscreen is
the answer)