last thought
I think there is a cicada
under my desk at work.
It is ludicrous to believe
a bug of this ilk could find
its way into a tall building.
Yet its sound is chirping
with a certain rhythm,
loudest at the start
and end of each day.
Hours on either side
before anyone else will
invade this space.
For some unknown reason
its song has prompted
my mind to ponder the idea
what would be its last thought
if it ceased to be.
Would it depend on the circumstance
in which it found itself to be?
Captured under a glass and then crushed
or left without food for such as stretch
that it starves alone?
Perhaps memories would come flooding back
of swarms that have come and gone
in its life past.
Perhaps their collective memory
of this creature would fade with time
but at least for a moment
it will be remembered.
And then forgotten.
I cry a little with only
my desk cicada within earshot
to hear my quiet sobs.
I fall to my knees to search for it
among the pool of tears.
Worried there would be no cicada
to keep me company tomorrow.
Relieved to discover he is mechanical.
He will live without food
beyond the electricity that sustains him
For as long as I need his steady beat.
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