O Bug bug bug bug bug…
—John Hollander
Little musical hairdressers, His
favorites sing with nail and comb,
natter rhythmic clicksongs in His ear,
so many variations after the first
essay: pool skimmers to slide over
shady waters, little kitchen demigods
ruining the flour, nano-lumberjacks,
and you, assiduous worker, proud
to roll your ball of dung in the broad
field of His approving gaze: a God
so plainly fond of you if otherwise
unknowable, capricious, obscure.
published in Concis
Martha McCollough 