The beautiful strange enormous cricket-thing
that came in when your windows were open
that got in your hair
that you put out
into the violent February weather
thinking that its proper domain
thinking yourself not able to provide for it
that came in again
that you put out again
The beautiful strange enormous cricket-thing
with the dull brown surface
with the folded wings
with the antennae
with the many-faceted eyes
with the incessant moving and searching
with the glorious reflective red inside its big jumping-legs
The beautiful strange enormous cricket-thing
has expired on your back-door threshold
its guts carried off by the amoral ants
its body now an empty bottle
its glorious legs cut away,
discarded.