The Cricket and Me
I took a shower with a cricket
late yesterday evening. The Sun’s big eye
was growing heavy with sleep.
A consistent intensifying sting.
I was thinking about the state of the world
as I understand it. And about how little control
I have over anything.
The cricket had no say either.
At my feet from his perspective
I was a hulking fleshy giant
of unknowable power and influence.
I naively believed we could coexist.
Me and the cricket.
He didn’t survive the shower.
I have clumsy feet.
J.I.B. is a poet from Southern Ohio. He died in a plane crash in the mid 90’s. He’s the author of 2 full length books of poetry. You can read his work in your dreams.
