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After the Exterminator
by Ellaraine Lockie

The next morning cockroaches
dot the driveway on their backs
Thread legs beating the air like they're peddling
an old-fashioned sewing machine
Trying to sew a few more stitches of life

Hours which weave the fabric
of death in turtle time
We do this to them
after 350 million years of survival
Their anti-reward for existing
longer than any other species on earth

Dr. Kevorkian turned-guerrilla-war-commander
takes control of my feet
and orders the quick crunch of bodies
Each like a metal snap
popping on a homemade dress

The ones in the grass more like buttons
slipping through holes
as they sink into the quiet of soil
All with the efficiency of a frog's meal
or a bullet through the head


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