Periodic Cicadas

The bleached grey picket fence
treated in its earth-stab
against termites, splintered
like bone overexposed
to dog days of sun
and sudden downbursts;
the skin-casing of nymphs
secured to rough surfaces,
vibrating with the frenetic drone
of twin male organs
that behind the fence
exposed themselves,
loud but hidden
in the cool of evening,
the Fremantle Doctor
having died back
to a night-bird-like stir.
thrived on insects,
roosting in branches
that defied property lines;
the long wait hinted at
missed seventeen years
as the bar codes
of fencelines were scanned
for the technology of cicadas,
timed precisely
below ground…