One Bloody Cicada
After years and years of pounding city streets,
I turned my back away for one of those bush retreats,
where gum, ti-tree and wattle; lovely natives of Australia,
marched me into battle - with 'one bloody Cicada.'
Now if your knowledge reaches for what a Cicada does,
like camouflage among the leaves while shrilling calls of love.
A shrill that drones and drives you mad while hidden out of site.
You chase the curse all day and hear it in your sleep all night.
'One bloody Cicada' - somewhere in the trees,
hiding in the foliage from one of my killing sprees,
but I can't trace the shrill of that backyard peace time raider,
so the war has just begun - with that 'One bloody Cicada.'
What do Cicada's look like? Are they big, hairy and fat!
I must be going stupid 'cause that's the neighbour’s Cat.
Do they crawl; have long legs, move with a certain grace?
Or was that a 'Huntsman' that just ran across my face.
Scrambling like a Monkey, through foliage, limb and flower.
Wasp and Bees are buzzing and that bug decides to cower.
If I want to shut the mongrel up I've found the certain way,
all I have to do is - perch here in the tree all day.
Now I'm howling at the moon and pushed down on my knees.
All I want to do is slash and burn and cut down all the trees.
I'll do anything to find it. I will tear and rip or kill.
But after fire, flood and poison, I can hear the mongrel still.
'One bloody Cicada' - somewhere in the trees,
hiding in the foliage from one of my killing sprees,
but I can't trace the shrill of that backyard peace time raider,
so the war has just begun - with that 'One bloody Cicada.'
Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2020
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment