Poetry

What Are the Chances

What are the chances for one last barefooted summer?

None really but I’d like to imagine the full 90 

Enough days to prepare my feet to meet their maker

To walk thru the pearly gates

Shoeless and strongly calloused

That’d be my choice

In case the sands in heaven were just a bit hot

And the trails were topped with large uneven boulders

 
PoetryAustin Roman