Among the Lowly Orders
by Justin Gardiner
Not the termite: dead-wood drudgerer,
soft-bodied despoiler of the naked stump.
And not the fly—house, horse,
or otherwise—fledged twelve-day
opportunists, dizzy with the social scene.
Nor the high-heeled feelers
of the vulgar name: cockroach!
a pub-crawl catch perhaps,
but never the ball-and-chain—
scurrying from bedroom light,
solo hugger of the bathroom tile.
And the flea—light-hearted tickler,
complicit bed-buddy to the circus act—
who among us could forgive
those wanton ties to the market place?
Not even the dung beetle
clad in dark leather fantasy,
fellow digestor of the undesirable.
But rather, the mosquito:
Spanish-skinned from la zona rosa,
or kimono-tucked from
the Asian shores; voluptuous soul-
sucker, lithesome partner of the dusk
and dormant, dutiful protector
of the desert spring, loyal
in its lust—almost human—
easily crushed,
steady on the arm.
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Justin Gardiner works as a hotel concierge in Portland, OR. This is his first poem in print. E-mail: gardinjb@yahoo.com |