Lazy Summer Sunday on Wolverine Lake, Michigan

Those cottonball clouds float past slowly,
Keeping watch over the warm August afternoon:
The slight breeze raising the ripples
That lap against our old wooden seawall;
Katie the Beagle sleeping on the couch,
Nose tucked to tail, ribcage rising rhythmically,
Dreaming dreams of rabbits and belly rubs;
Malcolm and Henry tubing behind the neighbor's boat,
Henry's thumb points up, demanding ever more speed,
Malcolm's thumb jabs down, requesting a kinder, gentler ride;
Monique also on the boat taking photos, having fun,
But secretly wishing she was still in the hammock,
Reading the Sunday paper, being outraged by the outrages;
And me, sitting on the shady porch,
Listening to a ballgame on the radio,
Watching over all, like the clouds above,
And writing this poem.