A Real Shoo-in
With his old tennis shoe
Mired in the muck
Wriggling created
An ugly zugzwang
The one option
Presented itself
As a brief playful transaction
Between our young eyes
Slight movement
Left or right
Caused the suction
To burp out a deep groan
And then a long stretchy
Sluuuuuuuuurp
Clean foot extracted
Our smiles
Lulled into temporary relief
Knowing the fate
Of his father’s wrath
As we skedaddled
Through fields of cut hay
Toward home
