April 18, 2015 
my life was full of
karma bugs,
from my skull cap,
to my Ugghs
–picked ‘em up while sowing fields–
–aided by a turning wheel–
–seeded for a karmic yield–
and though a few
came out in wash,
the rest of ‘em I could not squash.
I swatted some
up in the air,
alas, a lot came
down from there
–falling to the bed I’d made–
–next to which I sometimes prayed–
–petitioning a sunny day–
and since my chickens
roosted there,
I let them be
as Nature’s
fare.
Foregoing swat,
I tried by fist,
throwing down,
but could not squish
–even one when fingers spread–
–casting 3 back at my head–
–index hanging like a thread–
pointing out my
trebled blame,
my harvest
in this karmic game.
And recognizing
game afoot,
I realized to
fight’s no good
–and “going there”, I came around–
–at which point, all bugs came down–
–no longer bane, but new friends found–
a crop of opps
I reaped that day,
on b’itchy back
was karmic pay.
©Karen Robiscoe
Charron's Chatter 