Mini-gangsters breach the imperfections of my nylon mesh. Careening buzz saws trumpet their arrival, merciless high frequency their taunt.
I am the oversized sixth grader on a playground of bullies. Or, is this a single Lilliputian who dives at my sweat sodden skin from here to eternity in the heat of the midwest night?
Though I might escape to the drone-free inferno of the great indoors, I stay and study my supporting roles as life of the party and warm buffet in a multi-legged wedding bash my mini-mob is staging.
Ancient salves of lanolin give scant relief nor sane belief there is a balm in Gilead. Alone with my itchy discontent, the self control of planet earth could not contain the madness.
I punch the pillow one more time, my brave resolve ignored by all creation.
Public Domain photo James Gathany
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