A Bug on the Move

​It hesitated, then slightly moved one of its crooked legs

Or whatever bug appendages are called
As if to test the air
For which direction the wind was blowing

I learned early not to like bugs so much
To believe they should not be
Wherever I chose to be
To keep them out of my natural order of things

But this bug I watched for some time
Until it moved rather quickly
And me with all my supposed power over it
Picked it up on a kleenex

I opened the front door
Walked to the edge of the stoop
Shook out that Kleenex, waited,
Watched it land, that bug, now in a ball

Does it have an innate stopwatch
That screams out, NOW!
Run! Make your getaway
Not knowing for sure who is watching or from where

I have changed its journey
Me, the compassionate articulator
Of another living thing’s existence
Leaving it to shake off my choice

Even in my supposed gentle Kleenex approach
I have determined for it a different day
Then what it first thought possible
When it put its little leg in the air
And thought itself alone in the decision
Of which way would suit it best

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