a cockroach can survive a nuclear strike
but not survive being struck with a newspaper
and if i were the ghost of that cockroach
that had been taken out by a newspaper
i’d feel embarrassed!
i’d sit at the closed gates of cockroach heaven
waiting until their lunch break was over
trying to invent some heroic excuse
a war story for why i had appeared there
to not feel embarrassed!
in the garbage meadows of cockroach heaven
there are no newspapers, nor any slippers
just peace and quiet, and amazing grace
sung by veterans of the bug nuclear blitz
and none are embarrassed!