When the Enemy Comes to your House

The 17 Year Cicada- Brood Two

 Well, the enemy by the thousands.

 In your yard. Swarming.  Loud.

Brown shells crunching.

Yes, right here.

I heard they were coming.

 I saw the first signs.

 I moped around for about a week.

I was losing time in the yard clean up fight.

And I am BIGGER than they are!

Right?

So armed with a broom for swatting, shoes and gloves,

I made my first attack.

And got dive bombed.

In the past four days I trimmed,

 and pulled weeds, 

and dumped piles of brown shells

 into the yard waste containers,

And the counter attack.

They flew into my hair, up my pants leg.

and down my shirt front.

And the low humming in the distant background 

and the high pitched screeching nearby,

all echoes their short-lived and desperate

hope of finding a mate.

So the ones lying dead on the ground- 

is it ecstasy and mission accomplished?

or death by broken heart for not finding a soul mate?

Well, I may not know the full unfolding
 of this seventeen year story...

but what I found in my yard this weekend?

 Priceless.

I will probably  be here-

long after their fleeting foray 

into my yard.

Truce?

I might even let them think they gained 

enemy ground- for a bit.