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Thursday, October 10, 2013

365 Poems: It's not a poem about crickets (UPDATED)

Day 283

UPDATE: And then I found this. Real crickets singing:


If I were young, this might be 'Juvenilia.' Since I'm not, we're labeling it 'doggerel.'
Wasn't him.
Not really a poem at all; if I were young, perhaps it might be '

October in the Garage, 
for the little girls
who like bugs

It's just the garage.
Full of cars.
And also bikes.
Perhaps a trike.
Grey cement floor
Two outside doors
Way too much stuff
More than enough.
Late summer air
It lingers there.

And then tonight
Trash cans I fight
Out to the street
Mission complete.
I walk back up --
What's that? Chirrrrrup!
A low soft sound
Somehow surrounds
This messy space
A bug's own grace
His last sweet song
Now lingers long
And I too pause
with quiet cause
to listen to
and sadly rue
that long slow tone,
a creaky moan.

He's hidden here,
somewhere quite near
but soon he'll pass
into garage trash,
be swept outside
nowhere to hide.
Yet, one shall return
as you will learn,
to chirp again
when you are ten.

We'll miss this guy
when winter's nigh
(Though not our foe
The mosquito
whose whiney tune
drives us quite loon.)
No hugs for bugs,
Just this small rhyme
caught now in time
to replay today
 in some small way,
that lovely chirp,
his last ah-ah-------urp.




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