A HUSHED AFTERNOON

The radio chisels out a hollow

In a cheap rosewood guitar

The metal catgut warbles

Everything seems hushed

Sweat salts on the top lip

Mixing with the beer froth

Nothing in this life tastes better

Than wearing a hat back to front

Topless in the shortest shorts

Thick sunlight and penwork

When asked if you have lived

A nod will do the trick