What makes the month of May
worse in terms of vermin
is that they're not the moths of March
or April's spiders, the heralds of Spring
being washed down the drain
during afternoon showers;
they're six-legged titans
capable of carrying
one hundred-times their weight
and working together
far better than most.
It's hard to watch as the suds lather
less impressively than the ads claim
'cause they always almost make it, they nearly
fight the tide effectively, but eventually
like lesser men, succumb to the holes
in the chrome-plated drain cover.
Somewhere in the septic
or leeching out to fields
is a half-inch reminder
of what we're all to do:
March to the beat towards what's wrong to eat
as Cortez burned his boats after landing.
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