Overevolved

A bug, so pleasantly direct, has found
The food. It eats. It buzzes. It will
Spy another soon, and fornicate, and
Lay its eggs, while we, the hobbled,
Higher beings, squirm upon our folding
Chairs, imagining, for reasons only
Those with crumpled frontal lobes
Would find persuasive, that our lives
And those of those we procreate
Depend on our pretending that we
Value what this speaker says. In fact,
I've long since ceased to hear. I see
The food. My stomach hurts. I see
A woman, standing in a suit, which
Seems to signify that she would
Rather have me tell her, “You have
Such a lovely brain” than voice my
Truer, basic urge, which is, “We ought
To fornicate.” I wish I was a bug.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 23 times
Written on 2012-01-11 at 13:28

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