← v21n3, Spring 2023Poetry · Volume 21, Number 3
The Junebugs
Hey boy come here—quick,
so he dropped his rake and
ran to the yard by the house
where probably five hundred
junebugs like a pile of emeralds
and rubies glistened crawling
over each other under each other
in the grass. By god look at them
fornicating, he said and his son
said Hold on, I got an idea, and ran
to the house for the bundle of
twine and gunpowder he had tied
together into a bomb for such
a purpose and blew an equally
glittering hole into the yard
a foot into the earth and the punch
his father landed reverberated
in his skull for the rest of his life
and when the assassin fired
it was the last thing he saw—
junebugs everywhere crawling
glistening in the tall summer grass.
