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She sat staring

At the dead

Cockroach

In her bowl.

She sat studying it,

Wondering if, out

Of the blue, it

Would come to life.

She was a smart girl.

Top of her class,

Primary school,

Secondary school,

Even in college.

Yet here she was

Staring at a dead

Cockroach

In her bowl.

It made her

Ponder about life,

The cockroach did.

It made her question

Life and death,

Questioning if it all

Was nothing but an illusion.

Was life nothing more

Than a two bit act

That never made it

To the big time

In Vegas or Broadway.

Was life something equal

To an act found

At the circus amid

Acrobats and animal trainers.

Or did it even make it

That far, more on par

With the freak show

Filled with all its oddities.

She sighed,

Then removed

The cockroach

And ate it.

She ate it not because

She was a freak,

She ate it because

She did not want

To be viewed as a freak.

In her world of

Mass consumerism and

Big cars with small lives,

Eating the cockroach

Would be freakish

But she was not in

Her world.

The world in which

She now found herself

Possessed delicacies that

Ran the gamut from

Palatable to disgusting,

And to save face,

She ate them all.

She ate them all

Because in a world

That appears to be shrinking,

One had to eat

All that was presented

So as not to offend,

So as to make that

Million dollar deal.

She was a smart girl

Who became a smart woman,

Who knew what made

The world turn.

She ate it

With a smile

On her face

And money

On her mind.