Cicadas
She enjoys knocking them to the ground
and crushing their bodies underfoot.
She delights in spraying the hose
on a tree where they've clustered,
"Fly buggers, take that!"
Screeching, screaming, swarming,
raucous, rumpus, creeps her out.
Don't you just hate when you feel one crawling
up your neck ten minutes after coming inside -
one hitched a ride on the back of your shirt?
He greets them.
Amazed at how loudly one can sing,
he welcomes their chorus.
"Sit closer," he says,
"that I may marvel at your beauty."
Rich black, orange and shimmering.
A testament to God's perfect timing
and the rhythm and perseverance of nature.
She has difficulty seeing the little critters
as a sign of a healthy ecosystem.
He has difficulty seeing that
she simply doesn't like bugs.
6 comments:
This is such an interesting poem, they seem to view things differently, yet dwell together in harmony.
Toyin,
Yes, it is a most happy marriage.
You know, I just read a blog yesterday about these creatures. The person wished they would go away. They are a little frightening looking to me!
We have an infestation of love bugs twice a year in FL -- May and October. They do nothing but mate and then die. You never see just one love bug -- only two and they are in the act of mating. They have no predators so they propagate profusely. Of course, they smash up against your car as you are driving but you must wash them off because they emit acid after death and can ruin the paint on your car. Can you find a poem in there somewhere, Clarence?
simply love your work.
-g-
I felt like I was reading about myself when you mentioned the girl.
:D
Post a Comment