what are you doing

you call your friend ginger
to see what she's doing today.
nothing, she says.
i'm lying in my hammock in
the backyard, sipping on
a glass of ice tea,
reading about eighteenth
century furniture.
sounds like fun, you tell her,
clipping your nails
with a steel clipper
and staring out he window
at a cardinal
nervously flying from one
branch to another.
it's nice out, you say.
yes. it is, she says,
turning a page after
licking her thumb and finger.