Summer Saturday

What is contentedness
But a day spent entirely
Alone and at home
On a summer Saturday?

Shirtless, but still sticky,
Napping on the couch
With the curtains drawn
In the late-June heat.

Eating a simple bite of bread
And waking up to the scent
Of scotch poured hours ago,
Lazily opening one eye, then two.

And you’ll write–you’ll write,
But not before a bite to eat,
Or putting further off the chores
You had put off this morning.