Bugs

I live in the city

without many bugs

there are no bugs in my home

and very few in the air

there are ladybugs in the garden

and I’m happy to have them

but here in this dark cabin

deep in mountain woods

there are bugs in every vista

in my clothes and in my hair

in my beard and on my pillow

in the bathroom on the wall

every sort of buggy

flying, creeping, slithering, watching thing

i’m scratching as I write this

while tiny scavengers pillage

 the rich forest of my face

i want to be back in the city

where my skin can heal

and the food riot in my hairy parts

can finally come to an end

I’ve come to accept them

over the course of my brief stay

reluctantly confessing to myself

and the bugs

that I am the interloper here

what a nasty creature I must appear!