Maple at its best

[heslopian]

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, "Toiled" kept making me think of "soiled", but that could just be me.
fashioned as a throw on old wicker.
The sympathetic chair nods twice
before swollen foot stays its rhythm.

fingers crook brown bottle neck, Missing capital letter.
mongrel pants in welcome shade.
Chilled sips close appreciative eyes It took me a moment to grasp what this line meant, though I don't think that's a criticism. I like such moments.
as crowded corn field shimmers an insect beat. Excellent. "Insect beat" is the perfect metaphor.
Hard hand wraps frets on worn maple,
foot chock releases the rocker's rhythm
and the Bluesman takes his cue.

This poem uses syntax which feels strange at first but all makes sense and clicks together perfectly, a bit like Henry James' prose. I love how you manipulate tense and image to create a sense of narrative even though nothing actually happens. What you're basically doing is describing a scene the way a static portrait does, yet the poem feels vibrant and alive because of the present tense. Thanks very much for the read.