Irises

I look up, half-blinded by the sun,

And all I can make out is denim ensconced by the sky.

A subtle shift to the right reveals the ocean in the distance,

A handful of terns swooping and diving.

I take the hand offered to me, one that is

Calloused and rough with years of hard labor.

I wonder what could have caused such chafing and blistering

And for how many years it took to reach that point.

But questions like this are pushed to the side,

For as I adjust to the daylight I see a pair of eyes

That would make Paul Newman glower with rage.