BUGS

When humans watch the sky for holes, then kiss
all plants goodbye and suck down freeze-dried food
our ancient, desperate souls with pens ablaze
write debt-for-nature swaps like let’s do lunch.

If gams are schools of whales but also legs
then maybe Moby’s caught, her fishnet hose
so torn by drift net’s yen for cash she bleeds
above the thigh, the moon blood red with coins.

If five of six animals are insect
and most of those are beetle, who are we
to save the world from orgies of the small?
One good bomb and they own the place, and cheap.

Wax and silk and pigment and honey: bugs
work so hard for us it’s odd they sting
instead of strike. Butterflies near factories
turn black to hide from predators. Success.

Across the wobbly fist of earth, blue whales
are whispering to elephants: let’s dance,
make love, burn swords of ivory and baleen,
stay up late, drink like there’s no tomorrow.