Metamorphosis

A cartoon I once saw inspired this poem.

Metamorphosis

The sign says, “Quiet Please,” 
yet a man with a grimace on his face 
holds a book above his head; 
prepares to slam it on the library table; 
flatten a cockroach crossing its length. 

I implore him to spare the famous author; 
return the book unstained to its case; 
sever his hatred for the six-footed 
whom we humans love to loathe. 

Throughout the course of history, 
we have hoped to eradicate such beings, 
except perhaps the butterflies 
whom we celebrate.

Within the folds of the brain, 
loathing for insects resides.
They symbolize disease and dirt 
and seem fit only for extermination.

Despite our efforts, they remain.
They ooze forth and are always with us.
In Alan Weiseman’s speculations 
of a post-human world. 
He asked what creature would suffer 
if we disappeared. 

He found only one answer to his question:
The Cockroach.