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Sweet Summer's Child
October 12, 2023
Slippery, slimy, stinky.
He sits in the weeds unaware that a great predator is stalking him. I am that hunter.
With careful movements, I slink towards him.
My toes don’t slosh in the warm water.
I’m stealthy.
I know he has eyes in the back of his head.
Closer, closer, splat!
He writhes and wriggles in my wet hand.
I hold him with a soft firmness. Like one would hold a snowcone
that sat too long in the sun.
“Mama, look!” I hold him aloft for her to see.
I will let him go later but for now, he is my prize.
Into the bucket, he goes.
Number nine.
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