by Chris McGinty
Two men stood on a deck. The sun suggested mid-afternoon. The lack of leaves suggested summer, or a good landscaper. But there were patches in the grass where the dirt showed through. Where was your landscaper now?
The worst patch was large and expanded out from the deck for about fifteen feet. It was a suggestion of degradation in fertile ground. One of the men stepped down from the porch into the barren part of the yard as though to survey the damage. Then he chanted, “Oh, sugar. Count the sugar. Before it goes away.”