Wild Berries

In summer’s swelter,
stinging sweat runs into my eyes.
I stop the flimsy road bike in the bend
for blackberries nestled in cool, cool shade.

I pluck the most promising,
kick into critic mode;

Ahhhh, that’s a sweet one!
or
Ooooohhh, that one’s bitter.

I eat my fill,
climb back on the bike
all purple fingered,
purple lipped,
briar punctured,
then I’m off into the sunset. ..

But this ain’t no movie
and I’m strictly antihero,
so the story doesn’t end.

Throughout the remaining ride,
with my tongue tip,
over and over I fail to dislodge
the seed trapped between teeth.

The tension mounts.

At home, I get at it with the tooth brush.
Wooooh, what relief!

But next morning I expectorate yet another.
Where was the rapscallion hiding?

Then I realize a chigger has taken up
residence in my wrist;
got its self a nice little place there…
It begins to excrete and I itch like all hell.

I scratch it to a blood berry, but alas, no relief.

A woman at work has the fix.
She gobs nail polish on the whelt, so
I walk around with what looks like a nose swipe,
dried mucus, crusty arm hairs.
Coworkers stare.

After a few days, dead chigger.
He decomposes there.
In my arm, chigger bones.

A tiny stone marks the spot.