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Kuzma 29 Greg Kuzma The Stinkbug The stinkbug startled me from my indecision on the hill, crawled on my arm, and when I struck it splattered me across the hand I went to strike it with, and then on the arm also. It fell to the ground, along my shoe, and I resisted killing it, but left it to assemble itself again, and take off. It went toward the downtown. The smell was sweet, fermented apples, the smell of autumn. It was wonderful. All these years I have been afraid of them. Seeing them inside in the bathroom on a faucet, I would go somewhere else to take my drink. Or outside on the porch, seeing them I have given them wide berth. Now I have had their best shot and survived. Not only survived, I liked it. Vowing not to wash, thinking to myself to look up the chemistry. Years we have lived together. Now I know the creature better. Now I have experienced its essence. The smell is wonderful I tell you. You would be surprised. You would marvel that this bug has such a bad reputation. So my Sunday was not wasted. Standing on the hill, surveying the lawn killed by the heat. A day I had lamented, a lost day, found and salvaged by a stinkbug of all things. ...


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