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Cockroach
by
Rusty Broadspear
I see
Exquisite inscrutability
In the face of a cockroach.
In fact - I call him/her
Pokerface.
Under the magnifier
I think he needs to lighten up.
He scuttles for crumbs
Then stands stock still,
Until
I throw more scraps.
Perhaps he's jaded,
Armour plated boredom,
Bushed with exploredom,
And furthermoredom,
Probably wants a mate.
Never too late,
So I collected six,
Unsure of their sex.
And sprinkled them
Into pokerface's glass tank.
Wow did they scamper
And fight.
I threw in some food.
Switched off the light.
They are busiest at night.
In the morning,
At the edge of the tank,
They waited for me,
Waving their head gear.
Otherwise standing stock still,
Until,
I scattered more bread.
Expressionless their heads lifted,
Watched my bread filled hand.......
So ........ Pokerface had told them.
Probably in payment
For a session.
They really do
Enjoy their food.
An indefinable robotic cuteness,
(You must think I'm mad),
Polished blackness,
With a knackness
For devouring.
OK - they spread disease
But then so do we
With a sneeze.
I say, we start a crusade
For these misportrayed
Night crusaders
That continually raid
For food.
Hold a magnifier,
Look into the face of a Pokerface
And see,
Exquisite inscrutability.
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