To Pests

By Kell

Happily I, would tend to a garden of mould,

kept in a glass bowl as if a poorly considered fish,

or a leafy terrarium of invertabrates,

like a flower in a pot, a cat in a cot,

with the spread of its spores contained,

by words and rule and poison not,

the patches it dominates fed and safe,

if only I, if only I could speak,

and know the growth is listening,

if only you, if only you could speak,

and know I'll play along.

Quite merrily I, would make housemates with a mouse,

so long as it eats its portioned amounts,

and lays droppings in a spot I can clean,

and, might I step upon its back, knows not to run beneath my feet

and licks its paws before it nests in my bed,

if only I, if only I could speak,

and know the mouse is listening,

if only you, if only you could speak,

and know I'll play along.

Silverfish and flies,

I would allow refuge in my home,

they could scuttle to and fro, flit where they may, roam,

so long as we are in agreement:

that they not land in my food,

that they not ruin what I hold precious,

that there are no visitors in my nose or ears,

and I, in turn will watch their dances, make way for the flies,

celebrate each hatching and pupation by their sides,

leave the silverfish to their races

if only I, if only I could speak,

and know the little ones are listening,

if only you, if only you could speak,

and know I'll play along.

I hate to be the keel of death,

the steady hand that pushes down,

on throats much smaller than my own,

the scale that weighs both heart and feather,

the blade that cuts unconscious tether,

It is not you,

you did no wrong,

if only you could play along.