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  2. AN ALLEGORY

    When the air is clear and the sun
    rises through a mottle of trees,
    a riot erupts among the smallest
    citizens of the Hollow: fruit flies flit
    against a traffic of gnats, like rock
    throwing thugs in a dying ghetto:

    all part of the fun of playing out
    dangerous games like staying alive
    where there is always the fear
    that sunshine dries the swamps,
    exterminating their interim places
    like hooded Chemco sprayers.

    —Albert B. Casuga
    08-17-11

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