The stars are reflected in the grass tonight, as fireflies refuse to fly anymore. They lay about in the thick brush, a flickering blanket answering the twinkle from on high. Do they act like this on long summer evenings? How could they? Kids would scoop them up by the million! Jar them, squish them, write their initials with glowing firefly goop on their arms. Boy kids chasing girl kids squealing with glossy boogers of firefly goop. No, they wouldn't lay about like this in the summer. But now they seem tired, these flies. These non-flies. These fire layabouts. It's September after all. Dark at eight thirty, kids busy with their homework, staring at their screens. It's safe to lay in the weeds, done with the darting and flying exerting minimum effort. If a firefly's flicker is meant To draw a mate, these lazy bums should go home alone. © TDR - 2020
Hot Bottoms 