Monday, June 2, 2008

Brown Waterscorpion

Ranatra fusca

We thought we'd seen everything,
but more has excaped our notice:
like the water scorpion,
one of evolution's vanishing acts,

drifting like a bit of broken reed
among the wrack,
four thin legs graphed to its sides,
plotting the course of its impossible stride.

A needle with two needle eyes,
its snoutful of anaesthetic spit
can piece the flesh of fish or frog,
drawing out life like a syringe.

But how unsinister it looks,
propelled by the inept oarsmen of its legs,
eyes and feelers sitting up front
like fishermen with bent poles, trolling.

Cedar Lodge
July 23, 2005

1 comment:

Christopher Tassava said...

Beautiful poem, belying the scary-as-hell creature.

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