By John Grey
MOSQUITOES They've flown in squadrons since before airplanes. And they've been attracted to human skin, long in advance of the first human romance. Likewise, they've sucked blood for centuries, with enough dedication to the task to put every vampire in Romania to shame. Does that mean I respect them too much to swat them? No, just that that the only good insect is a dead antediluvian. DAFFODILS Massed daffodils in robust grass, day after day – you know you’re safe. For they bloom harmless, but deep with longing for the sun and rain. Always rise up at morning’s call, white-petaled, yellow-bud kisses. Yesterday, the same. Twenty years ago, no different. Soft wind croons, low voltage beauty, seeing them now like seeing them in retrospect.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Sheepshead Review, Stand, Poetry Salzburg Review and Hollins Critic. His latest books are “Leaves On Pages”, “Memory Outside The Head” and “Guest Of Myself”, available on Amazon.
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