On Not Singing Alone

I favor sitting in the old chairs
by my front door when the guitar
and the sun is out
wind not strong enough
to pick the poppy petals,
neighbours mellow and not
panhandling. it helps to have
a hound around, lying out so flat
someone swears he’s dead but
for the twitch and snuffle.
The old stuff starts like a teapot
set to whistle; lonelies [...]