I Wish I Weren'T a Centipede

I WISH I WEREN’T A CENTIPEDE by JOHN M. ARRIBAS I wish I weren’t a centipede, a lowly arthropod I need a transformation into something much more mod To obtain status, with a much higher species standing Not be straddled with an enervating task so demanding I get no praise for my control nor multiple coordination None can match my velocity nor perfect synchronization Hard work, sweat and practice, I never need to hedge Only I can manage and direct hundred pairs of legs There are numerous phoney imposters of me The most common, of course, the millipede We both scurry about after the sun goes down I’m known as a deadly killer, he’s just a clown And when he is frightened, curls up and plays dead Me, when confronted, a venom I’ll promptly embed He subsists eating dead leaves and rotting flesh Me, I go hunting I like to devour my protein fresh I’m really scary, so I stay hidden during the day But at night is when I’m active searching out for prey I’ve got a couple of pincers, positioned near my head I reach out to find you, once located, you are dead That’s my routine, residing in wet n gloomy sites Venturing out at dusk to procure a couple of bites I’m not a gourmet almost anything fits my diet A mouse, a rat, an ant. If its warm I’ll surely try it Each day mimics itself, an unremarkable occurrence Repeating the same sequence doesn’t really make much sense After due deliberation, I have decided to fill my day With thoughts of being a condor and just aviate away I will soar over the Andes riding endless thermal drafts View the Nazca Plains, take in the mysterious graphs Alas, it’s a pipe dream, that each night I’ll need to cede I’ll scurry out, repeat the hunt, cause I’m just a centipede