just like a june bug

he stood there
wanting me to come with him
past the people milling at the door
out into the parking lot
under the ringing singing
droning lights
humming in a baleful orange
filling the black texas night

a halogen lighthouse
drawing and calling out
to the thousands of june bugs
boxy brown beetles
lured to this place
so utterly foreign for them
these beetles flock here
to asphalt and concrete
where before they roamed the grass
here they will die
so far from home.

its the warm air i think —
the humid breeze —
makes us think
that living outside ain’t that bad
that our days should be spent
inside, under fans and air conditioners
and our nights should be spent
outside, roaming the wilderness
amoung old oak trees
and dark houses
tracing the wickedness and mystery
in people’s eyes
as they drive past
in beat up pickups.

and i’ll admit
there is a wonderful something
that adds its charms
to anything and everything
when the sun sets.
most of my youthful trouble
has happened in the dark
in back rooms,
hidden musty places,
and shadowy, back alley lanes
enough for me to avoid
such locales now that i am older.

but sometimes
the fevered breath
of texas night air
comes over my shoulder
looking for me,
and like that june bug
struggling in the streetlight
my heart moves