The Shortest Distance

The clover’s gone tall as a knee,

I’m out here without any shoes.

The envelope’s soggy and free

Of anything other than news.

I stepped on the dandelion tool,

A rusted and orange-flecked spine.

The grass is the only thing cool

While the rafters are losing their line.

The bills have all bled in the dirt,

The ink is a blur of a threat.

It doesn’t exactly quite hurt

To be losing the only sure bet.