I had to remove the photo of the June Bug.
It just gave me the creeps.
With warm days behind and ahead of us, my mind immediately traveled to a memory of one laundry night, many 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:
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 encircle my head.
Zipping 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.
Quickly. I swoop
to retrieve escaping undergarments
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
