short on brains and bug spray,

i waltzed into the bog;

i had to get a picture of

the dead trees in the fog,

when suddenly, the sky was filled

with skeeters, through and through;

they got into my ears and nose–

behind my glasses, too!

and as I did the swatting dance,

i must have looked so weird

with those crumpled

little corpses strewn

across my once-white beard,

and yet i got the must-have shot

despite the bugs and mud–

and the feeling like i was low

a quart or two on blood,

so now, on my adventures,

i bring bug spray by the ton,

for i won’t soon forget the morn

that skeeters almost won.

–photos by me