Cicadas

still early morning

the green grocer cries

the muscles of a tiny sixpack

tighten to impress the girls

timbal ribs buckle inward

expel a pulse of sound

cicadas inhabit

the hollows in my head

the sound of cellophane

scrunched and squashed

the constant crinkling of

plastic bottles squeezed and crushed

a thousand tin clickers

click a thousand times

then I hear a warbling waterfall

the morning joy of magpies

I rise from a suspended state

put on the lively day

the cicadas recede but still remain

other voices claim the stage

yet the moment of most intensity

straining to hear the softest sounds

the harp amidst full orchestra

a woman’s gentle voice

a restaurant conversation

the cicada chorus resounds again

consigning me once more

to the society of insects

Rohan Buettel lives in Canberra, Australia. His haiku have appeared in various Australian and international journals (including Frogpond, Cattails and The Heron’s Nest). His longer poetry most recently appears in The Elevation Review, Rappahannock Review, Penumbra Literary and Art Journal, Mortal Magazine, Passengers Journal, Reed Magazine, Meniscus and Quadrant.