Maple at its best

[Keith]

Edited version
Heavy boots creak weathered wood,
field and porch helpless to heat,
resigned fan slowly shakes its head.
Toiled trousers flop onto faded curtains,
fashioned as a throw on old wicker.
The sympathetic chair nods twice
before swollen foot stays its rhythm.

Fingers crook brown bottle neck,
mongrel pants in welcome shade.
Chilled sips close appreciative eyes
as crowded corn field hums an insect beat.
Hard hand wraps frets on worn maple,
foot chock releases the rocker's rhythm
and the Bluesman takes his cue.




Heavy boots creak weathered wood,
field and porch helpless to heat,
resigned fan slowly shakes its head.
Toiled trousers flop onto faded curtains,
fashioned as a throw on old wicker.
The sympathetic chair nods twice,
swollen foot stays its rhythm.

Left fingers crook brown bottle neck,
right rub mongrel ear then scruff.
Chilled sips close appreciative eyes
as dust track field breaths insect beat.
Large hand wrap frets on worn maple
foot chock releases the rockers rhythm
and the Bluesman takes his cue.