Supper with the Sun

The sun pulled up a chair and sat

At my kitchen hutch with me.

His royal robes of scarlet magenta

Flowed out in godly majesty.

He said he’s smelled the brisket roasting

When he’d passed mid-day,

And knew perfection would be its name,

And asked if he could stay

And sup with me, and who am I

To tell the sun to shoo?

And so we broke Hawaiian bread

And twined our arms just so—

Like they do in the movies

With the cups up to our mouths.

We drank sweet tea, and he said

He might set tonight in the south.

But I knew he didn’t mean it.

How could the Sun do that?

And so I wasn’t surprised at all

When he rose, tipped his crown like a hat,

And rolled away, for I’d heard his stallions

Neighing just before.

They were getting barn sour

And couldn’t lag here anymore.

But, as I see him ride the rails

I raise my tea in high toast.

Though, I am very careful now,

What type of meat I roast.

-jenn long