as a thumb, brown
and
wide,
antennas sticking
out
from all sides
it catches
my eye on the white wall.
waddling as they
do with
little plan ahead of them.
what is that?
another floater
on my retina, or an insect
that's found
his way in
from the cold outside.
which magazine do i use
to kill him with,
a messy job,
or
which book to toss,
smashing him to bits,
Syvia's Collected Poetry,
or Robert Frost's?
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