I’ve been learning how to play Kenny Rogers’ “The Gambler” on ukulele, which is probably not the opening sentence you expected today. It begins, “On a warm summer evening.” And this poem, which went into the box on Monday, begins, “That summer night / was hot.” It’s the season for simmering evenings, tales about trains, and poems about backporch sitting. I think we can agree that this blazing summer can only be made better by savoring some music and “listening like a fool.”
“That summer night
Was hot
Steaming like a crab”
