Night Hawk Robber Baron

Yet summer lake, yawning, for the weather was warm, inducing a snooze,

The village of SummerLake had not yet been incorporated,

Blues.

The summer sky was blue, but not blase.

The shrink of the sky, iridescent, was not a smirk on the face of the robber baron, who developed.

The robber baron, who had seen and done it all, during the summer, could have slept on the sand, the unbranded sand, the riveting allure of the summer lake breezes,

“This is as good as it gets,” the robber baron wheezes, naked, and bitten by chiggers, mosquitoes, black flies, no-see-ums, and assorted others.

The robber baron’s gold digger wife snaps back,

“You married me for my creamy glow, the flow of my silky hair, my silent muse to your tone deaf ruse.

“Not this scarlet rash, and red sunburn on all my naked, private parts. Especially my face, which is now going to prematurely wrinkle.

“You must love me anyway.”

The robber baron says, “I will.”