ManicDDaily

The Spoils Will Crawl With Us

When the world bangs shut
mostly,
we
will not whimper, we
will lurk, as accustomed,
in the close crevices of
smolder and freeze, sowing our little
black eggs, seeds that root equally
in the rot and burn of
abundance, need, scrapers-by in the crud
of whatever, until, all together, we blink
our beetle-black eyes and creep free,
finally, our carapaces a shine of silent
smug, without worry of pacing
sole, heel-hammer, stink-nozzled
spray, our antennae un-
cocked crowns reigning feelingly over crisped
crusts, the blue plastic portals
of fosslized fridge doors sky enough
for survivors (no
kitchen lights to scrabble away from
now), the only counters, us, who will tally
and chew, as randomly systematic
as any overlord, all those
crumbs, smears, stains,
our six legs raised
to the power of else.

*************************************

Posting this draft poem (apologies to those who feel a little sick) for Real Toads prompt about some good feeling that may arise at the end of the world, an “Out of Standard” challenge hosted by Isadore Gruye. Check out Real Toads, and check out my books!  From main page!