There are many ways

To divide Southerners.

I do it by those who hate

Loud bugs and frogs, the

Ones that leap and fly

In the dark, and those,

Like me, who enjoy them

For the inability to get

too complacent in reality.

People who need reminding

That the world was not

meant to keep just us alive.

Us who need the startling flap

Of gossamer wings and slimy

Flesh on our skin to pull us

Away from racing thoughts.

Southerners who, like me,

Like the cicadas in summertime,

and barking tree frogs at night,

Sometimes need to scream.