what to do with all these
little hoppity brown beggar-bugs
scattered on the pickleball court?
of course an additional scourge
to farmers wallets and a dilemma
for poets to weave into tapestry
so what does come in ugly waves
hangs around gets in the way
is hard to avoid stepping on?
while I think of some hazy outline
I wave my paddle and they spring
and land a few feet from me
far enough that I can’t blame them
for a bad ball bounce
or a bad shot
notice I’ve pushed a problem
out of the way kicked it down
the road just out of reach
and doesn’t procrastination
sound like that cricket
in the corner of your mind?
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