Wednesday, August 17, 2011



When the air is clear and the sun
rises through a mottle of trees,
a riot erupts among the smallest
citizens of the Hollow: fruit flies flit
against a traffic of gnats, like rock
throwing thugs in a dying ghetto: 

all part of the fun of playing out
dangerous games like staying alive
where there  is always the fear
that sunshine dries the swamps,
exterminating their interim places,
like hooded Chemco sprayers. 

---Albert B. Casuga

Prompt: As always when the air is clear and the sun at a low angle, I’m astonished by how many small insects drift back and forth between the trees. ---Dave Bonta, The Morning Porch, 08-16-11

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