Robin Merrill

A Nature Poem

I drove to a park, carried a blanket
and notebook down a trail
and sat against a tree.

I poised my pen and waited,
the way a new preacher waits for God
to tell him what to say on Sunday.

I crossed my legs underneath me, Irish skin
bright and vulnerable in the southern sun.
I felt a little funny, like someone was watching me.

I began to imagine the alligators and bears
sneaking up on me,
monsters stalking me that second.

I wrote, The trunk is cool behind my back.
My thigh started to itch so I stopped to scratch.
Then I wrote, My back is cool against the trunk.

There was a sudden bright burn in the right cheek of my butt.
Then another.  Then another in my left cheek.
My ass was on fire.  I jumped up, looked down.

A red ant army setting up camp on my blanket!
I pulled down my shorts and skivvies
and started to swat at my own butt, shouting,

Damn damn shit shit damn shit damn
and it was then a real hiker,
an honest-to-god outdoorsman

stood stock-still staring at my giant Irish moon.
When I saw him, I stopped dancing, pulled up my shorts.
He said, What are you doing?

I said, Writing a nature poem.

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Robin Merrill has her MFA from Stonecoast and her BS from Maine Maritime Academy. A former Merchant Mariner, she traded seafaring for a teaching career. Now her life is more adventurous. She lives with her husband, daughter, and two hounds, Orville and Olive, in a big old house in Central Maine.