How'd you like to
be a beetle in the
desert, standing still for hours so that
a drop of condensation can form
in the joint of your leg, then you can
lean over and let it slide down a
channel in your smooth back
so you can slip it in your mouth?
Once glorious bullfighters, there are stilettos
growing from our necks, clutching at our wages,
eyes dart about on Friday
evenings at the bank; paychecks being routed to long suburban
buildings near expressways, and big sweatshop rooms
where people talk on the phone.
They are paid to find out where we keep
our cars, and call at 8:30
on Saturday mornings, diverting our
attention while sneaky unassuming men with
guns in their belts and keys to our cars jump in and take off with
our ride to work.
Hey!
We are not Beetles in the Desert, standing still for Hours!
© 1992 Daniel X. O'Neil
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