There was a bug
I don’t know what kind
In the darkness of the night
Lit by a 150 watt flood


On the concrete


On its back


Flailing, as I was grilling Italian sausages.


Its six black legs seeking purchase
Its beige belly vulnerable
As it tried to leverage itself with light brown wings
Upright into a flying position having to fly to live.


I watched its struggle and thought
Maybe it was in the grill and had been hurt.
Maybe it was dying.


And then I thought
Maybe the best thing to do was to
Step on it
Free it of its struggle.


Then I thought some more.
What if it hadn’t been in the grill?
What if it had made a mistake?


Instead of squashing it I flipped it over
Just to see
And it flew, now visible brown wings blurred
In flight


Settling a few feet away
Resting


And I was glad I had considered
More than I saw at first
More than summary judgment
And helped it to live


Later
I smashed a mosquito into a wall
With a supreme sense of triumph
At my accuracy
.

~ Pete (pbolte@msn.com (Pete Bolte)