in the sun

your  father,
the navy
master chief
petty officer
turns eighty four
come june.
he's had more
fights than joe louis,
more lovers than
errol flynn,
and more miles
at sea than
columbus. a few
wives and nine
kids are far behind
him. like distant lands.
the grandchildren
uncountable, as
the stars are.
but now he rests
easy in his
lawn chair,
sunning his
cross stitched face.
a thick book
rests half open on
his  browned belly.
he lifted weights
earlier in the day,
swam a few
miles at the club
then stopped
at krispy kreme
for a cup of coffee
and a boston cream
donut. he flirted
with a waitress
no older than
the shoes he was
wearing. desire
and a wink  still fresh
in his blue eyes.
his garden stretches
out beside him.
corn and peppers,
tomatoes and melons.
tall loping sunflowers.
his thumbs still as green
as they were when he
was raised on a farm
in nova scotia. he has
circled back to where
he was. alone and in
the sun.