This morning we had bugs in our poem, following our yesterday’s chemical raid on them. They were our bed fellows who would have sat with us in movies popping corn and come home on our taxi backs.
The bug has a life span of 23 days. A day or two less from it should not be much of a sin. We share our lives with them, our sleeps and by and by, our deaths. They are strange bed fellows and we belong to the same dust.
What bugs us is we have to kill those
Who were sleeping with us dreaming
Of death, its pre-eminence in bodies.
They were in bed with us like women,
Watched movies with us popping corn
Came with us riding on our taxi backs.