When I was a kid, I use to wonder why I could hear the cicadas; but never see them.
I grew up where the dry heat would radiate off the bitumen.
We often had strict water restrictions from the drought,
But every summer, without a doubt,
The cicadas would arrive.
And under the blue gum, they would hum.
The hum reminds me of stale heat
and burnt tongues on scorching pie meat.
slush puppies from the kiosk were also a treat,
This was our bread and butter,
Until mum would pick us up, while waiting in the gutter.

My own cicada choir,
Listening to them conspire.
All humming in harmony,
Like honey to my ears.
Yet they rarely appear,
I would wonder why I can hear
Cicadas in the background,
Like surround sound
But I would seldom ever see them,
After finding their empty carcasses,
pined to the bark on a tree,
The amber carcasses would stick to my shirt like a fleas
I would wear them like a scout badge
Hoping they wouldn’t hatch

I have a conspiracy about cicadas.
Did you know some cicadas live underground for seventeen years?
It became one of my biggest fears,
I’d press my ears
into the grass,
to see if I could hear them pass.
Surely, they know something that we don’t know?
As they live underground for so long,
I guess it isn’t so wrong,
As the government does not discuss
secrets with us,
They just throw us under the bus.
Perhaps the cicadas are trying to tell us,
That the government are controlling the nation
By polluting the population,
With chemtrails
Radiating over New South Wales.
Did you know,
That when cicadas show,
They spawn from the depths of the earth,
Only to give birth.
They live for only three days,
After hiding underground for nearly two decades,
They lay their eggs,
Then they leave their dregs,
Their only trace is their transparent amber case.
Although it was a while ago,
I still wonder what they know, as they remain below,
I also wonder, what don’t we know?