Bug In A Cup

Here's my equivalent of the black and white Indian head graphic.


Bug in a Cup

The population of a Styrofoam cup:

one bug

living in quiet disharmony
with a cherry stone
and a Batman sticker.

A few seconds ago -
but was it years in insect time? -
the bug approached the cherry stone
tentatively tapping
with two tiny antennae:
the pit pitched -
an epic tremor
to a bug;
he scurried back
to a far round corner
not quite hopeless
in solitude
but sufficiently suspicious of fruit seeds
which do not return
his caress.

Eons pass
and one day
a finger pokes down from heaven
and stirs and sports
with the Caped Crusader
breathing-in life,
animating and creating,
a bug-crushing angel
of death.

The disposable limbo
turned hell:
no hero trapped,
no great mind awaiting
some deity’s reprieve.

Until finally,
a magnifying glass
focuses the solar system
into the cup;
a scorch of heat,
a cracking hiss
as the cherry pit explodes
and the bug dances in blistered ecstasy
to the smiling face
of a snot-nosed god.

1 comment:

anne said...

This was always one of my favorite poems of yours.

Sometimes I'm the bug, sometimes the cherry stone.

Someday I hope to be the batman sticker.

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