...but on Labor Day the creekets rested............

Not since April 21st has the Zepata saga held forth on these pages. It was felt at SRN hdqtrs that some time was needed to pass before we could return to the extremely hot story. A cooling off period, if you will………………

Zepata Inst. XI

THE CREEKETS

Previously, the little Mexican bugs
Or as they say, "bawgs”
Maintained a low profile, in their little red bandanas
Offering some secondary colour as stowaways
Throughout the bold saga.

However, much of the magic and potency
Of Zepata, Irena, and the hombres stemmed
Nay, STREAMED
From the creekets.

Yet: the creekets were born Mexicans
And perhaps one could say the Latin country
Imposed the nearly helpless surrender
To lust, manifested in the transformation
To mariachi music of the dancing &
Prancing, when it really was a fundamental
And underlying plain and simple reproductive urge

Made prescient;
Even human;
It was difficult to remember
As the almost insane music flowed

The bawgs
were merely rubbed their legs together;
That the toy guitars and maracas
And the red bandanas and miniature sombreros

Were mere stage effects.
The Great Playwright must have been
Enjoying Him/Her/Itself
Twixt sharpening the Olympian
Thunderbolts
At that unfathomable writing desk
In the sky

.............Or somewhere…………

(the tale will continue as the SRN does)