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[penguinboy.livejournal.com]

Stuck for an Ending

"... if design govern in a thing so small."
~Frost

Stuck for an ending to a poem,
I see a large brown moth banging between
two plates of glass. I can't just leave it there

so I open the windows to shoo it out.
It careens into the room, tiny helicopter
with a busted joystick, the pilot drunk

on what might have been his last few gulps
of air. Since no good deed goes unpunished, etc.,
this winged dirt clod lands

in my fresh Ron Rico and Diet Coke,
thrashing around like it's a birdbath.
So I toss the Cuba Libre con Polilla

into an already-dead potted plant (anthurium),
where the bug staggers a bit before
trying flight. It blunders back into the air

and circumnavigates the globe burning
above me before smashing against Being
and Nothingness, the fattest tome on my shelves.

Then the moth rights itself. Shakes itself alert
and flutters right into, it appears, the exact center
of my cat's open mouth. This is the end

of my attempt to play savior, and I wonder
who among us could argue now
against the idea of God.

by Jeff Worley