Eeek Love: Art & Poetry
A virtual veterinarian, I
de-wormed my hard drive
today, wondering how
you insinuated your bytes
into my own warm disc,
thinking, if I were a worm,
I’d have five hearts side by side:
one to break, one for you
to infiltrate, three for spares.
I’d hate to be a lowly creature –
one thinks, for example, of maggots,
which, according to Merriam Webster,
are dipteran fly larvae, only worm-like,
a fact The Dictionary self-contradicts,
listing them with earthworms
and nematodes as having no spine.
Even the aromatic wormwood
has penetrated the vernacular
as something bitter and/or grievous.
But I admire their individualism,
as worms do not wiggle in herds,
and, while two might enjoy the same bit
of food, it would be for the taste,
not the company, their prostomia
blocking unwanted bites.
Nor, in the case of a shared apple,
would either endure the vituperation
threaded through stories of Eve,
for each, with a clitellum,
can ejaculate and receive.
True, a worm has never been
the symbol for a Goddess or a God.
However, thousands of moist,
slimy species make their way
through the earth, some especially
suited for composting, notably
the Red Wiggler – which rapidly
reproduces, then backs out
from the cocoon of squirming
babes it leaves behind:
the one that gets off the hook.
Mary Bast, Eeek Love