Bugs

Box elder bugs mass on our southbound screen, shadow movement.

Entrancing the cat, who is smart enough not to eat the little buggers.

We got him grass, always a delight, as his eyes light,

In a happy startle, and a bound to appreciate,

Rub his face in the sprouting wheat he'll be

hawking up later, which is part of the pleasure,

Not that pleasure can be partitioned and broken.

D and I are feeling icky, venturing out for gas

and a handful of groceries, we walked out of the store,

leaving refueling for tomorrow, in our malaise and fatigue.