Six months ago I watched a ladybug
die inside a fluorescent light fixture.
She's still there, unmoving.
My head was tilted back
into the wash sink, water freezing
cold so as to preserve the colour.
Ladybug, how did you get in there
in the first place? And how could
you not fly your way out again?
When I was a teenager
there was a bridge I had to cross
between school and home
a gravel path freshly dumped.
Suddenly a cat head surrounded by stones
its face terrified - no not terrified
horrifically distorted, a victim
tortured by sick fucks
on their way from school
or was it in broad daylight? I dug
stones away with my hands raw
saw only skin from the neck down
an odd colour like corned beef
red but not - pink but not -
imagine the sound something makes
so far away from love.