The Maynard
Fall 2018

Ode to the Cockroach

Ferrous body, feral heart, you were forged elsewhere—alloy of alien parts: the brassy husk, barbed limbs. Form built for velocity, fiery wings throttle air, compel those swift stems of liquorice to make haste to clandestine spaces to flourish, to feast on stamp glue, peppermint wrappers, bits of lint. At dusk, you declare regency over each room. A blade of light cleaves the gloom momentarily adorns the authority of antennae. You are reborn at night, you glow auburn, glower. Those prehistoric eyes prowl this hive, divining the embryonic to the refined. Creature without coda or quota. Like dark matter, everywhere unseen & everywhere in between. You combat lessening with glut, a brew of genetics & good luck. You bend the world to your bias, &—like a virus—you’re always keen to reinvent. If called for, your bellies embrace deprivation. Adaptation is your birthright—to outlive, outlast. Something encoded in the brain convulses with closure; corrodes restraint, compels you closer to the carnal. (Procreate & you may replicate something of the eternal.) Kinetic with intent, you tear into the hereafter, bold beneath the aegis, the armour of grit & sinew. You understand as we do: time is carnivorous.