the black flies
and ladybugs of these
warming winters
droves sounds dramatic
but dozens, hundreds of each hatching
in the southern windows
boxelder bugs too
not amityville horror-level
i know now that was bullshit,
no evil entity need exist (save for my kind)
all old country houses are nurseries for
insecta

gutted the bathroom and found
1000 black walnuts beneath the tub
and later, inside the kitchen doorway lintel,
a red squirrel’s deep nest, convenient, efficient
all old country houses are potential residence for rodentia

absent humans (my kind)
abandoned for a year or two,
the wild begins to reclaim

and who doesn’t want in, after all?

i did, i wanted in
found myself let in, found my own way in — or
what does it really matter.
i was in.

i tried individual rescue and release missions
and it became a full time job
of futility
black flies captured, clinging like men

quick! unlatch, open the window with one hand, “out with thee, shoo!”
they succeeding —or stalling in flight or hanging about, weak
may the starlings find them alive — or dead
they enjoy maggots and mealworms, after all/

ladybugs scooped into jars, and set free outside, please show up when the aphids are here — instead?

stinkbugs are gently palmed and parachuted on squares of toilet and tissue paper down to the grassy lawn beneath the bathroom window
how would you explain this odd debris field to anyone else
maybe another gentle soul or an equal psycho, would recognize it and know/

who doesn’t want out, after all?

they want in, then they want out.

i want in.

i want out.