"Zzeeear...Zzeeear..."

Cicadas don’t use Door-Dash.

They emerge fully-fed.

In the insect mishmash,

they can hold up their head.

 

It can really numb one;

their screeching in the forest.

All to find that special someone

and propagate a chorus.

 

“Zzeeear…Zzeeear…”

Their tymbal-rattling penetrates your soul.

“Zzeeear…Zzeeear…”

That is how the male cicada woos.

“Zzeeear…Zzeeear…”

With a call so loud, it cannot be ignored.

“Zzeeear…Zzeeear…”

A call so loud it reaches all the way

to Kathmandu.

 

“On today’s Community Calendar, The Lonesome

Cicada Club is meeting nightly, at ‘duskish’, in

‘The Trees’. Participants are asked to provide their own tymbals.”

 

Cicadas have no pie-hole in their head.

They just have a tubey thing instead.

Producing their specific squeal is done

by rattling their exoskeleton.

The probos is especially designed

for piercing bark and dining on the sap.

I guess if a cicada’s so inclined,

they’ll have to find another way to chat.

 

“Zzeeear…Zzeeear…”

I guess what I am trying to say,

“Zzeeear…Zzeeear…”

is that cicadas don’t have mouths per se.

“Zzeeear…Zzeeear…”

They only have that thin proboscis.

“Zzeeear…Zzeeear…”

There’s at least one plus- No halitosis.

“Zzeeear…Zzeeear…”

Don’t mess with one because

 “Zzeeear…Zzeeear…”

they will dart off with a buzz.

 “Zzeeear…Zzeeear…”

I mean, such a startling hiss.

 “Zzeeear…Zzeeear…”

Adding items to the laundry list.

 

Soon enough, we’ll

miss the squeal-

the noises that they made.

With the bitter cold

we’ll be longing for

a cicada serenade.

 

“Zzeeear…Zzeeear…”