Winter
has cleared up in Minnesota,
the box-elder bugs are coming they know when the snow stops falling on the
rooftops of houses: the house bends and stretches—the chimney necks stop smoking and seemingly
reach toward the sun. God’s little pests are man’s Minnesota almanac.
#3841 (4-14-2013)
Note: as I write out each poem,
let’s say this poem “God’s Little Pests” words run often times together,
like images, it is a system forming in my head,
it may not be well in order at first,
but I seem to ironed them out in
time, and remember not all poems have to rhyme.
