I smashed up that cockroach.
I squished it good.
Reproductive little motherfuckers!
I had to cut it off.
Reproductive stains!
It did leave a stain, though.
If you’re a karmic kind of being
These little squishes all add up.
Like bricks, building up a fortress of karmic doom.
But if you’re like me, who grew up among the roaches and the bedbugs,
Then the memory doesn’t last for long.
You’re the state executioner
Giving the injection, and
When the noon whistle blows, you eat lunch
(Hoping there’re no roaches in your sandwich).
Copyright 2004 by Angel A. Plaza.
Angel Plaza is a student at Rutgers-Newark.
