Old men pacing inside maws of open garages,
at least three or four to each suburban block;
perhaps retirees dwindling their days, not bored,
exactly, but without true purpose or direction.

I know firsthand there are only so many engines
to be tuned, yards to be maintained, cars and
boats to be washed and waxed, and items on the
list of home repairs to really give a damn about.

Slow moving shadow figures deep within cool,
darkened caves, sponging off fixed incomes,
abandoned by others snow-birding elsewhere,
left to soak in partial plans and dented dreams.