The Shortcut

It was my pre-dawn shortcut to work
throughout the winter months.

Now my shadow stands stymied,
where once I carelessly trod.

That potholed route has been excavated
by a sun awake well before me.

My morning commute now shows what
this season’s labor has produced.

Unfurled, an algal bloom’s green carpet,
a deceptive welcome mat.

Peering across to where I need to be,
today I rush to punch the clock.

These days, I’m envious of those who
can still plow straight ahead.

Crossing the scummy pond’s highway,
unemployed wood ducks

effortlessly navigate the shortcut as
I hurriedly detour around.

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