Grabbing crabs
in the New Jersey sand
demands quick hands.
Creeping deep
they dig down under
away
from the wind
in their seldom seen shells,
but my brother has a shovel
and can snatch them
even in the midst of sea foam
from small waves climbing the shore.
And at cousin Barb’s pond
Our hands swipe swiftly,
But stealthily enough
In brisk Michigan winds
to grasp and capture
the frogs lingering
near the edges.
Hardest to catch though
are cicadas
in our back yard
hiding in the trees
calling out to play.
My brother and I,
ages 8 and 10
cast our fingers
and clench only their wings
enough to fill two milk jugs.