sunday at the park

the old men
would gather around their cars
at the park.

in the shade of trees,
while the women
would cook and watch the children
down by the river

where the white sheets of
sailboats
slipped by on the blue sleeve
of water.

they'd put the hoods
up on the cars
open the doors

and drink beer.
they'd take a chamois cloth
and rub the fenders.

they'd lean on the grill
and talk
about the engine,

what their blue collar money
had won.

they'd look off to where
the women
were and talk about them.

there would be music, and
quiet laughter.

it was summer, they were no
longer young
and in the hunt, they were
where they

wanted to be. there was little
left to be done
but put a shine on the chevy.