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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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