is probably still leaned back
in some well-worn half-broke chair
out front of his house
caught in a perpetual state of summer
with a hat pulled down over his face
and a book lying open on his lap.
He’s been there for a while
(maybe all his life)
against a landscape of vibrant greens
and soft glowing yellows
taking his time
with whatever it is that he’s doing
(sleeping most like)
But that hasn’t stopped
the world around him from growing
passing him by.
that hasn’t stopped
much at all.
This poem is part 4 of 7 in the beer-name inspired poems. It is named after my favorite IPA over at Griffen Claw. If you get the stuff in your area check it out.
Also, this is lower than usual due to the title flowing into the body of the poem.