Worms

Worms

We went worm-hunting, we did, me and you, we did.
Thing is, when a man is to go fishing, he needs the worms.
And so, my great God, I dug ‘em as though my last three lives
Depended on a damn-good basketfull right now.

I dug, and scraped, and so did you.
Until we found a few, curling and lost. Disoriented worms,
We needed these, and more.
And you said, you looked up at me
And your breaths were little marshmallows puffed out
‘Gainst the night. Goddamn it, those breaths, all over me.

Saying, “Don’t do it.”
“Put ‘em back,” you said, and further, “Let these live.”

“Will you tell anyone I am putting these worms back into the earth?”
I asked you, and you said into the Northern Lights,
“No.”

And what was I to do?
I tucked them back into the night.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2008