Ronald Frank
Symbiosis
As he strokes her arm, unseen
An epidermal dross wafts down
Into the carpet’s brushy wool
Into the maws of teeming mites
Whose champing does not reach
The ears of those two who now
Are closely clasped. They need
No words to signal their intent.
 |
But if those dust mites only knew
They’d chorus Carpe Diem loud
Just you wait, our day will come,
We’ll find a way to topple you,
Grasp your baton and kick you out.
Then, ah then, our skin will flake -
Fodder for some lower breed.
Page(s) 21
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