My Country Tis’ Me by John Grey

Hot summer’s day,
prime time for insects
and the reflex action of my hand
swatting them, whacking them.

Too small for naming,
they’re just critters
with a liking for my skin,
the heat of my blood.

Even relaxing,
I’m like a cow
with its tail twitching,
so used to it by this
I figure a body perfectly still
must be dead.

See me from the air,
yes that’s me catching some rays,
fighting off the enemy,
chilling out,
squishing and squashing.

Be in my life
and I’m as calm as you’d want me,
all the peace on my lips,
all the blood on my hands.

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Published by

Jeremiah Walton

Jeremiah Walton is wary of writing a bio.

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