the Japanese Maple

i see the man

in his madras shorts 

and flip flops

watering his yard

before it gets

too hot.

his white belly hangs

over his belt,

and he's smoking a cigar.

slowly

he walks around

extending the long hose

to water

the roses,

the Japanese maple,

the bright green

grass.

i imagine

that he was young once

and none

of this mattered.

life is short.