Normally, on a day like today,
we’d shake hands and do the half-hug man thing,
then make our way to the kitchen,
where we’d sit at the counter drinking coffee,
or plop down just across from each other
on the sofa in the living room.
But given our age,
the possibility of contagion,
and the fact that the sun is shining on a chilly day,
we bump elbows and make a deal:
Steve and Neil will get chairs from the shed
while I get beer from the fridge.
With the corner of house
blocking the breeze,
and our chairs set at ease on the concrete patio,
we hold glass bottles loosely;
three gray-haired men sitting in the sun,
laughing and talking
from six feet away.