Poetry Jam: Georgia June Bugs

I had to remove the photo of the June Bug. It just gave me the creeps.

This week, for the the Poetry Jam, Chris has provided us with a set of words from which we are to write a poem. After pondering the word bank, my mind immediately went to a memory of one laundry night, years ago, when I lived in Atlanta, Georgia. If you have never encountered a Georgia June bug, well, let me tell you... you are fortunate indeed. The darn things are about two inches long and click and sputter around lights at night all summer long. ugh! ugh! (worth 2 ughs!) Anyway, here's the poem:

Word bank: laundry, laugh, edges, ghost, beer

Attack of the Georgia June Bugs

Snugly against my right hip,

I carry laundry, clean and folded,

in a wicker basket

on a hot, southern night.

Georgia June bugs

circle above my head.

Diving to and fro, their wings roar

like ghosts of B-52 bombers.

I run to escape their clicking laughs;

laundry jostles

over the edges of the basket.

I swoop down quickly

to retrieve escaping bras and panties

before anyone sees me

or those bugs get nearer.

“Don’t you dare fly into my hair!”

Ah, at last, I’m inside my apartment.

Only one goal: to chug a cold beer.

Jeanne I. Lakatos  2011