I’m
putzing around without a good post. Candidate
ideas are either too long and complicated to undertake this late in a day before I have to work a third shift tonight.
I have to sleep before too long.
The archive comes up with one
very long piece and some time connected entries.
So
I’m just dipping into my 2004 poetry
collection We Build Temples in the Heart
for this verse for a lazy Sunday.
The
Ugly Bug
She comes for a casual stroll across
the page of my half-read book
on a drowsy, humid morning
in someone else’s garden,
an object of passing interest
in the heavy air.
Have I seen this one before?
such an ordinary bug,
s bit ungainly on spindly legs,
long body, beetle-hard wings,
and a touch of red at the thorax,
not very impressive really.
Maybe the adult of some garden pest
larvae poised to strip tomatoes of their leaves?
I close my book—
Bam!
and expect to see
smear of yellow guts on my page
and one less vermin in the world.
But on opening—
a faint and ephemeral green glow.
I have murdered the Fairy
who dances in the gloaming,
winking magic in oppressive air.
She comes for a casual stroll across
the page of my half-read book
on a drowsy, humid morning
in someone else’s garden,
an object of passing interest
in the heavy air.
Have I seen this one before?
such an ordinary bug,
s bit ungainly on spindly legs,
long body, beetle-hard wings,
and a touch of red at the thorax,
not very impressive really.
Maybe the adult of some garden pest
larvae poised to strip tomatoes of their leaves?
I close my book—
Bam!
and expect to see
smear of yellow guts on my page
and one less vermin in the world.
But on opening—
a faint and ephemeral green glow.
I have murdered the Fairy
who dances in the gloaming,
winking magic in oppressive air.
—Patrick Murfin
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| The Fairy dancing in the gloaming..... |
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