Glossy, winged date
with antennae as thin
as the finest of brush hairs,
we’re told you will win
the war of survival,
and who could begrudge it?
You manage to thrive
on a minuscule budget:
the crumbs and the crud
we abandon to you –
flakes of skin, bits of paper,
a droplet of glue –
and you shop for them (mostly)
without being spotted,
in the dank little aisles
that you’ve been allotted.
Plus, you sprint like a cheetah!
You glide like a bat!
And yet (very sorry)
I’m smashing you flat.