The Weary Cicada

When will he finally
just die?

All that buzzing, moping,
dwelling on the past--
it’s obnoxious.

Perhaps I’ll have him killed again,
but you know what happened last time:

he was resurrected
overnight
then came after me, wanting to hurt me.

He would have done so, too
had I not convinced him
that it wasn’t me
who’d made the attempt on his life.

Then who was it? he asked.

I don’t know,
I said.

Then, strangely,
I pointed at my father.
But try him out, I told him,

and see what
he’s got to say
about this so-called
assassination.

He did. He went over and
addressed my father.

And, well, it couldn’t have gone
too good

because later on I saw him in the barn
clinging to a wall.
His wings were quivering
and he was wearing my father’s hat.

What happened? I asked.

Your father was a liar, he
replied,

and climbed further up
into the dark
where it was
cool and comfortable.