“The ultrasonic signal from a bat
triggers a tiger moth to dive and loop
before the terrifying form can swoop.
Phasmida are thin as twigs or flat
as mangled leaves. Try spotting one! Phantasmal,
some kinds can shock you with a noise when prodded
or let fly something milky and miasmal.
Flies feel a gust and flee before they’re swatted.
Tug on a cricket’s leg and she will lose it.
(Her disability, though, won’t confine her.)
The instinct to survive was the designer
of this neat trick, though crickets didn’t choose it.
And you, dear, are the most defensive bug
when lately I try giving you a hug.”
“Their mandibles keep mauling me all night!”
“You weren’t so squeamish, dear, when we first met.
You didn’t gasp and break into a sweat
when a lucky lady beetle would alight
upon your arm. What’s wrong with you?” “The shelf
over the bed, covered with insects—dead—
it’s like they’ll swallow me. Can’t help myself.
They fray my frocks. Vile caterpillars spread
their threads across the world. Your walking sticks,
your ants, your bees, your mantids, your insistence
on studying such things—Please keep your distance!”
“But hon, my woolly bears do splendid tricks.”
His ticker pounded as he watched her dart
like an arachnid from his house and heart.
One day, as he was ambling through the garden,
the blooms looked strangely ultraviolet. Whoa!
His compound eyes and head began to grow,
his jazzy exoskeleton to harden,
and in the sun the entomologist
became what he’d been dreaming of: a strong
and hardy hexapod. He reminisced,
buzzing about the yard with wings as long
as arms. Her harsh rebuffs, her sudden leaving
were hornet stings. Yet, lost among the flowers,
he felt elated with his newfound powers
until he barrelled into a—Done weaving
her web, the mammoth spider felt the bug
and granted him one grand and final hug.