Of Insects and Lesser Things

I am afraid of roaches.

Tormented I lay awake

At four in the morning.

As the little things trace imaginary rows and ribbons along my legs.

But I would never admit that.

Not to you

Certainly not to me.

Funny to think though,

How of all the lines that have been hewn

This is the one that will never be crossed.

These little things,

So fit to be crushed betwixt shoe and floor,

Hold bonfire to candle to things others cannot grasp.

What keeps them awake at night

And during the day

And at night

And at day

Is so delicious to me.

The little anxieties of living

And the bigger adversities to bear

Are nothing, to a roach.