to the ant on my keyboard:
yes, you may wander
among the plastic columns
scrounging for food
be free, little one
maybe you’ll find yourself
maybe another ant will find you
maybe you’ll find a mother lode
I believe in you, little ant

black beetle crawls to me
crawls up my arm
and settles in
atop my head
tangled in my hair
we’re friends

I come home from working
and he greets me by the door
a meow in his throat
and he wants his meal
I come out of the shower
and he wants out of the bathroom
a paw on my face
and he gets attention

grasshopper squeezes under door
broom sweeps it outside again

on the floor
facing the ceiling
spider up there
slowly he repels
down to me
creeping towards mouth
I don’t scream

fur ball
on a blanket ball
having a ball

he teetered on the edge
talking to the speckled bird
and paying his bills on time
constantly on the cusp of insanity
but never quite there
he wondered if he should be worried
about his tenuous grasp on normal
but his life passed as if a roly-poly toy
perhaps all sanity clings dubiously

sheep farmer sighs
his wife had a sense of humor
and named their daughter Mary