The Day The Cricket Died

He was on his back

When I found him,

Kicking his legs in the air.

I put him right.

He jumped off the porch,

Out of the shade,

Into the midday sun,

And started to

Bake.

He limped along

For an inch or so,

Gave a flutter

Of his wings,

And flipped over

Again.

Losing the will to live, he

Twitched

Once,

Twice,

And then was still.

A minute passed

Before I thought I saw

A small movement.

But it was only

The wind

Nudging him,

Encouraging him,

As I had done,

To try again.

But he was gone.

His empty shell

Donated to the earth.

I knew him briefly,

That cricket.

He was on his back

When I found him,

Kicking his legs in the air.

(Silver Lake, September 2008)

Playing With Fate

See, that's the problem,

When you don't ask questions.

You make things up,

You start believing in.

You don't want to

Spoil

The magic of

The mystery?

Fine.

But don't falter

When the truth

Comes out.

Stay strong.

Value what it is.

Or what it was.

Respect

Your own

Responsibility

In the situation.

If you go in with your eyes closed,

Don't open them.

Unless you want to see

The puppet master,

Ugly and tired,

Pulling the strings

Of your life.

You want to play games

With fate?

Fine.

But don't complain

When fate wins.

He always does.

(Los Angeles, March 2009)