Grasshoppers, hopping

on miles

of hot pavement

oily, viscous, burning


impossible to fly





poor grasshoppers


by an amused little boy

bashed in the face

inside his jar

freezer frozen

unable to move

pierced by a hook

in the heat

flying, finally


in a blue lake

fish bait

while we crawl on green things

acting green


for thousands of little boys

with red magnifying glasses

who don’t know what it means to hurt

but who do know

how to spot the fakers

Pity is not in their vocabulary

smaller things

are squashed and separated


without salvation

the lives of smaller things

don’t matter

because their lives

will never end.

2 thoughts on “Grasshoppers, We

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