To the Bugs

To the bugs who bit me as I shoveled:

I know I upset your home, eight years' compost,

Where nature called you earnestly to churn

And make for my sake a more fertile earth.

I salute your endeavor burrowing

Tirelessly through chopped grass, dandelion,

Avoiding the cigarette cellophane, the

Silvery prophylactic wrappers my

Mower indifferently shredded with

Black and Mild tips, torn munchie bags, children’s

Carelessly wadded homework, Jehovah

Witness pamphlets freely sucked from my lawn.

Despite this good you clearly work, may your

Probosces shrink in pain, your spawn feed birds.

c. 2014,  J. S. Manista