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A Bug's Life
Last night
There was a storm
People squealed
Running
Splashing
Arms flailing
Carrying paper bags over their heads
We trekked across
Pot-hole lakes and sidewalk-crack rivers,
Vast yard-jungles and weed forests
To reach the mountains
We call our
Home.
But they had
Disappeared.
We had
S l o g g e d
All this way just to find a pile of
Quicksand
That glued our legs to the ground
As we floundered
In the pouring
R
A
I
N.
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