Before it’s too hot.

We scramble out back
To kneel at beds
Overgrown with opportunists.
When you get lazy
They sneak in the night
on the breeze
Choking out the light.

A new surprise pumpkin,
monster sized peas,
A little stinging
nettle
to keep you awake.

Disturbing the bees,
I head back inside.

 

happy crystal anniversary Husband!

skeeter hollow.

16.3 acres for sale,
Even closer to the city.
What could be wrong with it?
Wooded, in the moraine.
A gentle green slope.

That sign
Is beginning to look a little worn.
Bright yellow with red screaming,
16.3.

I’ll tell you what’s wrong with it,
Husband laughs between gulps of coffee.
It’s a little place I like to call,
Skeeter Hollow.

I imagine the lineage of all those
pesky skeeters,
Slapped in the night
Traced back to there.
A king and queen on their
bloody thrones.
The king raising his sceptre
In victory
As another human,
Bound in mortgage
Is hauled before him.

I shudder and check
The other side of the road
for lease signs.

 

keeping myself honest with Write Alm prompts.

unmasked.

Ugly babies.

In a rare moment of togetherness, unplanned.

We three huddle together on the floor.

Cooing baby, adoring parents.

Don’t you feel sorry for people with ugly babies?

Husband shakes his head,

You are a bad person.

That may be true, but still? Don’t you?

A little smile and a nod.

Over on the sofa the 11year old

looks up from behind a comic book,

Rolls his eyes and sighs.

 

baby gorgeousness, it just never gets old