That’s what my father
Who was not above a modicum of bullshit
Called them
And Karl Shapiro the same in Auto Wreck
And when I came of an age to question my elders
I was like they’re cicadas why you lying
But they had seen more than I
More than anyone should see
What do you call death by flamethrower
What do you call the kamikaze
After the pilot is shot dead
With twenty miles of angular momentum
Heading for the flight deck on which you stand
Like it makes a difference
Locust or cicada
And yet I still lust after names of things
As if possession of the name
Were possession of the thing
As if things were all that mattered
Over actions say or math facts or moral facts
As if the forbidden name of God
Exercised deadly power in its utterance
And names are husks of locusts
The cicada having flown