On the river, in cottage country,
Remote as we are from city comforts
Of traffic, unwanted music
And other complaints
That are amazingly enough
Only a half hour away by boat
and vehicular highway means,
When it rains like this,
By unanimous vote we declare
By which we decree a state
Of helpless indolence
On which laundry sits in heaps,
Dishes remain on countertops,
Grass is uncut, boats are still, at docks,
And cards and board games
Accompanied by booze and late leftovers
Are the order of the day.
I do admit to reading on such occasions
But for leisure only.
At first there are many glances
Out of windows, but eventually
Even these cease except in the mystical sense
As we all focus on losing ourselves
For the day. Ah, bliss! We become kids,
Forced to it by rain.
August 27, 2006.