Somehow
I managed to miss the fire ant mounds
The sticker-burrs
The yard raisins spread around
Presents from the bucks and does
Coming into season sooner than they'd like
If they were able to understand such things
And I don't even have a rock jabbing me in the sciatica as I
Lie upon the grass
A bottle in my hand
A butterfly perched for a moment on its lip
And keeping me from lifting it again
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