Mossie Fest Killing [creation Myth #23]
And upon leaning to scrape the waste
by Simon Huggins
to that watery place where your young
thrive, in bubbling wiggle-dance
the outhouse chaste for years, engaged
I notice the buzzless graceful arcs
of gnat-flies, rim-perched, now
randomly advancing, some sucking
on my insides. This implied disregard
fills like shit fills the mossie bowl
the hatred joy implores, 'Destroy! '
Unhappy clapping for hours
as ignored, shit crusts to hair.