Our focus on a daddy
long legs spider skating sideways on the shower
curtain; it slips and flutters like an umbrella frame
into the tub with us. Before we know
if it will sink or swim, you fish it out, to be saved
for your collection of insects. Already in your hand,
a dying roach; translucent wings layered liked honey-wet
phyllo dough on an amber stone body; legs still blinking
like drying eye lashes. I splash and nag for the daddy,
you compromise by giving me the old roach.
I pluck its legs like flower petals, I want you
to love me like this: this attention you reserve for the bugs.
Instead, you scold and spit lukewarm ammunition,
grope for the roach, instinctually I squeeze: golden pus
innards sink in with us, scented cream. You declare
bath time done, stand to leave. Slicked to your naked boy
body, insect antennae and legs; little whiskers,
little leather whips.