the sweltering 

crackle 

of a suburban

summer’s day

in sydney

a cicada

brown and

blistered

clutches

the rough 

and burning

brick

of a 

nondescript wall

exposed

and vulnerable 

the sun

like a sledgehammer 

humidity

like soup

the cicada

does not

move

silent 

for now

its resilient shell

endures

but perhaps 

just perhaps 

it’s silence 

is but a ruse 

and determination 

to find a mate

beats heartily 

within it’s 

hungry abdomen 

not content 

but impatient 

for that

call of nature 

when its tymbals

shall vibrate, click 

and resound

to slice

the midday heat

with a loud

and lusty song