everybody squanders pasts,
listless gradations and humblings,
tirelessly diurnal ramblings,
chomping of apples,
stirring of laundry,
idling of vehicles,
spraying of radio,
flat chesting of the elderly man
bragging about his television commercial,
claiming he never saw it,
sunning himself,
placidly flaccid breasts of the aging man
sunned to a no-stick crisp,
letting on that maybe he saw himself
on the television in the taxi but
insisting it was not whilst coming home from
the airport, the airport, the airport,
his beerbelly buddies smile and sun themselves,
sunning themselves by their chisel-faced neighbor,
not grinning, letting him grin into
the sun, the sky, the clouds,
their mouths firm and straight as they
cower under mortality and the sun.