GETTING UP

Getting up
early coming down hills
in my white golf shorts
going too fast
on my motorcycle
having a fish sandwich
with the Cape's harbor master
still wearing a Panama hat
who twenty years ago
resembled Elvis
which is his nickname
who plays a nasty acoustic guitar
amid this healthy repast of salad
kale,romaine lettuce and greens
under an unruly dog day sun
yet wishing summer would last
meeting my first leaf cluster
from the Evergreen trees
on the road after a rain storm
as Elvis' melody turns me on
with his two cents plain humor
I'm in semblance of my business
of being bz out here
lost for time
basking in rays on this peninsula
working on this poem
wanting to shop at the thrift shop
for a new hat the tourists
may have left
as this tall midnight cowboy
hatted guy
suddenly emerges
from the visiting sailboat
with a lean Arizona desert smile
in a skin tight rainbow bikini
asks for the rest stop
in Provincetown
as his cruising day begins
offers me his hat
but I say a prayer inside for him.