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TWILIGHT OF THE CUCARACHA
In my spotless kitchen when I turned
on the light, there's this ambulatory inkspot
scuttling from sight. Dare I name it?
even the name is ugly. Roach, penultimate
horror, black and bug-ly. I'm a swat team
of the broom and spray bottle Clorox for
the odorous demise of this miniscule lummox.
Uneducated insect, he deserved to die,
didn't even try to move up in evolution,
become part of the solution. I wish this fate
for all of his ilk, as I sit "sans" remorse
to read Silk-o, Momaday, and Rilke.
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