Bob McAfee

sitting on the old swale wall
looks at his watch,
tucks in his shirttail,
whistles a few bars of  
“How Much Wood Would a Woodchuck Chuck?”
to the tune of “Who’s Afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf?”,
nods to the members of the peanut gallery,
reaches back in his memory,
hems and haws,

casts his eyes to the heavens,
looks down to contemplate his shadow,
shrugs his good shoulder,
turns and heads down to the other side
of the swamp toward his fur-lined burrow,
sports a rueful smile
as he retrieves his slippers 
and newspaper,

lights his pipe,
gathers 
the popcorn and the remote,
removes his surgical mask,
sets the timer on his security system,
replaces the bar on the front door,
and settles in for a power nap lasting
for only another month and a half.

Bob McAfee lives with his wife near Boston. He has written nine books of poetry, mostly on Love, Aging, and the Natural World. 118 poems have been accepted by 46 different publications. He hosts a Wednesday night Zoom poetry workshop. His website, www.bobmcafee.com, contains links to all his published poems.