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I Refuse to Report Bugs to Their Creator By Brayan Salinas

During roll call

a black beetle

wanders to the sink,

near my toothbrush,

and I say,

“Poor thing,

I better let you go.”

My father says,

“You better smash that thing

before it multiplies.”

I think he says the

same about me.

I lie awake at night

and think

about crunchy leaves

crushed in the autumn.

My mother sees

six red ants

running around

the loaf of bread

anticipating their breakfast.

She says to me,

“Get those things off

the table.”

My sister panics

at the sight of a spider.

She runs to the kitchen

and screams bloody murder.

I remind her,

“We don’t find

scary things

scary anymore.”

My mother flicks

the grasshopper off her book.

She asks how I am doing.

I lie to her

and say,

“I’m doing quite all right,

I smashed a bug

with my shoe.

We all do

what we don’t want to do.”

I see a cockroach

on the ground.

“Gregor,” I whisper,

“you better run fast.”

He says to me,

“I only need to run faster

than you.”

Source: Poetry (December 2020) Please note: We strive to preserve the text formatting of poems over email, but certain email clients may distort how character indent, line wraps, and fonts appear. View this poem online

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Brayan Salinas

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