Fail Better

by Scott Wiggerman

A dead cockroach I refused to touch,

a slew of ants gorging its sickly stickiness

with an abundance of pleasure, as if it were candy.

The cat’s glassy iris stared, entranced

with the cockroach’s shimmer. Her green eyes

made me think of him, whittling on a porch

in the chill of loneliness. I was always afraid.