The Cricket

The Cricket

 

I was outside in the sunshine

And you somehow landed on

My black coat laid on the bench.

 

Without a thought

I reached down

 

Curled my middle finger

under my thumb,

 

And sent you tumbling through

The air with a power flick of my finger.

 

Thinking you would just

 

Shake yourself off and move on

You just lay on your side twitching.

 

When I touched you with my shoe tip –

 

nothing.

 

You died and I felt real sorrow.

I wanted you gone, not dead.

 

 

All you wanted

Was the warmth

Of my black jacket

 

On that cool

October day.

 

When we met

 

I thought

of myself

 

not

 

you.

FROM: Writing in Sand