The Night Bug

There is a bug that crawls my walls at night.

I believe him to be some kind of small cockroach.

He seems to favor the electric socket nearest his abode,

a crack in the wall of my kitchen counter.

Perhaps once a day we do battle. I try to squish him before

he retreats to his sanctum.

He has won every time thus far.

To him, I must seem an massive menace,

yet he still emerges to court the magic of electricity.

It is no life, remaining safely in one’s house, never daring to challenge the world,

in all its infinite monstrosity.

If he is squished, at least he died while living.

Perhaps he and I are not so different.

Perhaps he is teaching me something of myself.