Wished I’d Had a Big Red

Irene Keller

August 25, 2024

My fingers wanted to touch earth

     Maturing tree roots needed to breathe

thickly packed mulch              I  disarrayed

  harmful black plastic           ripped away

  with contented sigh roots stretched                         

      I pleased, smiled, “You’re welcome”

tranquility ceased  fast, unexpected               

red spots—welts—rash skin infected? 

The morning gave time to dig under the sun

      But noon announced, “You provide a feast”  

bites  ravaged my pale flesh       

 hours upon hours             body—fiery RED

not like measles blotchy surprise  

no graduation glory             from sixth grade

nor like a red arm from baseball

proud to show all toughness to pain

Memories of red encounters amusing

      Yet did not appease the need to cool 

those endless 

red-hot  chigger fires

Irene Keller, Ph.D., amateur poet, is a retired Texas educator who enjoys working in her backyard, that is until Texas bugs have their way with her.