To those little things it does not matter.
Some minimum wage slave hung it up here
in front of the lizard tanks.
The plodding grey thing at least looks happy.
Its tongue moves like it has a life of it’s own…
Waving a menacing hello
through the glass
through the clear plastic.
I wonder how long they’ve been locked in this tableau,
A crowd contemplating their fate
A lizard contemplated his supper…
It seems to have been a while.
Things are mostly now a stale mate.
The yellow gray creature stands here in the corner
looking both bored and eager.
Dozens of little bugs have resigned themselves.
They’ve settled into a gross pile of wings eyes legs shells
except for this one alone, away,
Legs moving legs moving legs moving
finding purchase impossibly in the smooth plastic
He runs like he were actually putting space between himself
and his predator.
I want to be that cricket.