the mosquito meets death
Broc Riblet
The mosquitos sucked on our legs and told us
you’re going to have a heart attack someday.
We chose our palms and our shoulders and
the combination of those two and we went for
groceries and a tin of gravy for our littlest one
behind our tucked away door the garden of
our youthfulness like wine going dry going
smoke in curves hitting this point and that
setting off all our alarms and we tire we rest.
We hand over our bodies once again and it
is the most born healing we feel besides the
dam failure laughter proving that yes life has
a way and yes we find our way along with it.
We put our heads together and for once the
crickets stop and we are a mess and children
again doing the only thing we know how to do.
What exactly is there other than that.
The mosquitos told us we would fall in that
maze due to exhaustion and the flies would
get too much we would be overwhelmed
swatting at once-there shooting at guns at
dust in the bushes again like they want us to.
All that stuff under the skin roots when it does
the same good stuff day and then day and then
day and keeps doing the same good stuff
for a lot of days and that is pretty simple.
The mosquitos didn’t count on the almost
unconscious crawling to traction then breathing
just breathing then talking then leaking then
touching then fondling then folding then
sleeping then winning then standing after
a victory seat on that bench and a precision
swat pinning the whisper killer to the public
wood to be scoffed away like we
scoffed it away.