Hot, wet summer days.
Bike tires grabbing terrain.
The Boy Scout Trail,
Puddles of rain filled with crayfish.
I snatches a mason jar full.
I hide them under the porch,
And got called for dinner.
Days past,
Grampa and me on the swing,
Stench to remember.
How did I forget?
Buried under the porch.
No life.
A stew of innards in glass.
I want to show off.
The cap wrenches at midstreet!
THE SMELL!
I VOMIT!
I DROP!
GLASS BREAKS!
I RUN!
It baked.
Hot wet, to hot HOT!
Hoses coupled and washed tads,
Part of it is still there,
Yet only I could point.
�2003 Daniel J Harris