Bad Mood

My bad mood is a hummingbird gang
gone wild for sugar water.
It fights amongst itself, stomps air,
beats emptiness like hummingbirds
that think they are pit bulls
snarling for blood.

My bad mood is a plague of love bugs
blown in from a storm, doubled-up,
crawling into every crevice
that does not want it, that will not want
its residue of smushed bug
lingering for months to come.

My bad mood is a late crop of fall tomatoes
grown small and hard from drought and neglect.
Too much to ignore.
Too little to be worth stabbing open
with a dull kitchen knife.

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