Upon my deck, a vodka poured up tall,
I gaze out over my domain of green:
An acre verdant wrapped in grassy shawl
And sunset rain to add a glassy sheen.
King Arthur with his table round and fair,
Bright pennants on his soaring ivy walls,
Could not compete with my beloved share
Of backyard bliss alive with songbird calls.
Potato juice and sax with gravel song
Are all I need to make the starting dent;
Forgetting useless hours burned so long
In business chores and artless discontent.
©2018 by Mickey Kulp
Mick is an Atlanta writer and father who is not allowed to buy his own clothes. His creative nonfiction, fiction, and poetry have appeared in numerous consumer magazines, newspapers, literary journals, and two books of poetry.