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WHENEVER SUMMER COMES AND GOES

we rarely talk of the dreariness of junebugs      the severed cadavers split in half      at the might of my hand      at the thrust of a shovel      legs bent in faltering prayer          like those of crustaceans      flapping at the base of a cream-coloured shell      the see-through cocoon      never meant to be unearthed       never meant for the direct terror of sunlight      see; there's a challenge:      do not shrimp      all day i have thrown ant hives into bushes      you see: this land is my land      god will not make any more out of it than me      yet: cities need compassion      insects too then      insects too