Cicadas, all the sound of nitrous with none of the fun.

Tiny helicopters,
Two inch weed wackers,
Insectile tibetan throat singers.

I used to hear these noises,
poised
over a can of ready-whip.

Now,
from a Hundred-foot Cottonwood
these noises drone down.
Reminding me that i still have some gray-matter to spare.

Now where's that can.............