December 23, 2015
Ode to a Squished Bug
Slackpole
Recently washed windshield explodes in an effusion
of yellow and green, while sunlit sparkle dances
across wingtip remnants glued to the surface.
Distant cousin, (14 million generations removed), dies without
dignity; reduced to gooey glob by wave of wipers,
dropped in dirt at roadside graveyard.
Terror of a thousand trucks crosses compound
eyes at the moment of maceration.
No tears trickle.
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