Friday, February 22, 2013


She sat staring
At the dead
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
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.

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