Thursday, May 13, 2010

Death To Worms

Sitting under a mango tree,
I watched maggots devour
A mango.
Squirming, crawling
In and out,
A sight enough
To turn my stomach.

From my pocket,
I pull
My magnifying glass
And on the maggots,
I aim the magnified light,
Their squirming and crawling increase
And they begin their silent cry.

Their short, stout bodies
Twist and squirm,
Their flesh,
Like plastic,
Melts under my wish
To see them die,
Till they move no more.

I get up
From under the mango tree,
Dust myself off,
Stick my magnifying glass
In my back pocket
And head home.

I truly hate worms.

To those who may take offence to the death of God's creatures, I apologize but feel comforted that no worms were killed in the making of this poem. Then again the last statement holds true.

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