Nineteen
It came in slight, like the breath of a dragonfly resting atop a blade of freshly cut grass
It surveyed its land and decided this was a fine place to lay claim
It was subtle and stealth and unwavering and determined
Like a pioneer
Then it planted itself in undesirable places
Wherever it dared
Like a game of chance
It spread like peanut butter on a fresh wedge of bread
And offered itself to a hungry child
Faces hid in the daylight and prayed after dark
Chapped hands folded in desperation
And here and there
It remains
Even after months of back and forth
Ignorant of an expiration date
Clinging
Burrowing
Waiting
Laying waste
But like the subtle breath of a dragonfly on a hot summer day
It will simply cease to be
In time
And maybe
Hopefully
In time
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