Millipede Cheevy
by Martin Elster
Millipede Cheevy,
child of soil,
grew sad reflecting on
the reasons
grass is plastic. No more toil
through summer seasons.
Millipede loved the days of grass
when all her thousand
feet together
drove her forward through a mass
of sod so nether.
Millipede sighed for bygone rot
and scorned this
artificial meadow.
“Astroturf gets way too hot!”
she cried falsetto.
Millipede Cheevy thought, “Vacate
this galling eyesore
they’re installing!”
Millipede carped and kvetched, irate,
and kept on crawling. |
(After E. A. Robinson’s
“Miniver Cheevy”; Appeared in Pulsebeat.)
|
