To a very small bug,
I am like God.
The earth trembles when I pass;
I am so large they can't comprehend me.
I am sure when I walk I sometimes squish one and the others cry,
Why, why, bad things always happen to good bugs.
Other times I step carefully to avoid them, but they must see my shoe come so close,
And I bet they go home and talk wildly of the close call,
adventures that some doubt, but grand-bugs listen closely, believing,
and they tell others because it confirms what is written about
in their holy books.
Then one is stupid and falls in my sink,
I see him scrambling away from the drain, fighting running water
when I do my dishes. And the water stops,
and he staggers, nearly drowned, too beaten to fight or run as
I bring the aluminum foil near, and he climbs aboard, knowing or
not knowing, and then he tries to run off the aluminum foil but it keeps turning,
like there is no escape and I imagine him wondering, "when will this hell
end?" and then I am outside, dumping him on familiar grass,
where he knows what to do, and he can survive and rest and live and hope for tomorrow,
I imagine him bewildered and transformed, in awe even though he is back home,
and he is thinking, "wow, there is a God."
Posts
