The dogs are here.

I’m here.

The patio is doing its best impression
           of an oven with bar service.

The sun,
        respectfully,

        can GTFO
        any minute now.

No big plan.

No pressure
   on the night
   to become anything

   it ain’t got the umphf for.

Just me.

The dogs.

A free answer
  tucked in my pocket,
  thanks to your good eye
  catching the trivia troupe

  slipping one on Instagram.

Which feels
      like exactly
      the kind of advantage
      we should _absolutely_

      pretend not to have.

Meanwhile,
         Rusty the Rooster
         got Karened out of Oscar’s
         after two months…

         working the parking lot like he paid rent.

Apparently,
           Rusty gotta go.

Which feels dramatic,
      even for a rooster.

So, here we are.

A little hope
  panting beside
      the water bowl.

Ready,
      if you are.

Still here,
           if you’re not.