Bayou St. John Bug Bite Blues

Bayou St. John Bug Bite Blues short poem

Photo by holisticmonkey

Bold as bold and shimmering gold
as the sunlight fights through humidity,
stacking the layers of weather
then dying black as holes, until
you question whether they’re alive
or just the blemishes of mis-laundering.
A small constellation of flies rest
and lick salt from the jogger’s
brilliant orange shirt where he sits
splayed in the air, the locals find chilly
in their jeans and sweatshirts
and my northwestern bones
consider comfortable safe from the
overly familiar embrace of New Orleans

the no-see-ums have been
at my ankles so each time I stop walking
my skin prickles sharp pins
then I scatch expecting a wound to rise
blood to flow pain to abate but
it stays watchful for my next step
possibly enjoying the sweat and rain
running down my legs as the camera flash
lightning strikes away north exposing
painless fish several feet beneath
Lake Ponchartrain coasting until
hunger awakens their fins and drives
them forward to find their prey
or eat the young of their own kind

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a poet from Seattle Washington USA. His poetry has appeared in print in publications such as Bellowing Ark, Point Nopoint, and most recently in Contraposition magazine. When not writing poetry he is a Human Resources professional, a repentant glutton, and a novelist specializing in the weird-fiction genre.
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Wonderful imagery. Great panorama . A past-master in brilliant use of language. Wonderful execution.


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