Tomorrow morning I’ll remember:
longer sleeves, a pair of socks,
and jeans. Maybe even gloves
and a bee-keeper’s bonnet.
Tomorrow I will turn the tables,
not make myself a mosquito feast.
The isolated cabin was cool and
still somewhat dark amid the dunes.
Who would have imagined them,
the swarms vampiric, winged agony
sucking the pleasure out of a quiet
dawn’s coffee, first morning of
the migrating mountain Sasquatch,
come down from his highlands,
lame, longing to see the sea?
P/S United ~ Scribble #3