Sympathy For the Thunderbug
There is no sympathy
for the thunderbug
during the summer itch;
framed in salty scenes of
historic naval victories
slapped and thrashed
by palmy waves
of arrogant hands
you are hated by
the young and old,
and your very existence
annoys most,
you are small and pointless
just like us, and perhaps
that is it
dear thunderbug,
death chases you
through the darkened corridors
of children’s thumbs
and I know how dark it can get,
but there is light for you yet
sweet thunderbug,
you are safe
on the side of my
sour, sour neck.
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