I Went Inside

I swiveled in the patio chair toward the sun to warm up and the shade to cool down.

 Yawned.

I moved my can of drink and laid my head on the table.

 I jerked, sat up, and looked around. Glanced at what I’d written.

 It really wasn't a poem. Just some Ideas clumped together, like scrapings from my plate washed off and left in the drain.

 I searched for a metaphor. But I was distracted by the beauty of the hanging basket-a watercolor without the paint.

 By coral-colored blooming roses hugging like sisters swaying on one stem.

 The glare on my phone and the dictating of this made it hard to read.

 Men were here to cut my grass.

 I went inside