How'd you get in here anyway?
Why don't you ride the rolled-down window current
to freedom instead of creeping into a dashboard
crevice? I'll only find you baked to a shell
alongside the stray wasp and two flies
on the carpeted back window cemetery, all
twenty-four stiff legs sticking roofward,
if you don't. Later, when another bug crawls up
and down the outside of my windshield, I'll wonder
if pheromones or telepathy or some secret insect
handshake signals distress.
I've seen The Birds. I am afraid.

April 2006