Song For A Woodlouse
By Lou Blodgett
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There is something about a woodlouse. They call you ‘roly-poly’, and that is what you do. In the time I take to walk to the store, you’re still there, on the stoop. You fascinating creature. If you were on the other side of the continental divide, you could curl up and roll to Winslow, if you had a cause. The armadillo of insects. You are up there on the list of least-disgusting crawlers. Quite a distinction.
If I yielded to you on the sidewalk, I’d be there all day. But, never mind, don’t rush. With your hundred little legs churning pavement centimeter by centimeter. Those inchworms and their marigolds- but what is it that you do? I will not Google. Some things should be left a mystery. Left only, perhaps, for the stalwart entomologists in their laboratories, with their Latin and their lenses. Let them understand the magic.
An insect most discrete. How often has one said to themselves: “Oh! It’s just a woodlouse,” and went on to other things. This is said less for wasps and bedbugs, I’m sure. But, the woodlouse holds a special place.
Let us be grateful that they were never used in some drive-in monster movie. Imagine. Barreling over a microscopic-scale set, through houses and over bushes with, at best, all the charisma of Scott Baio. That would not be a woodlouse forte! The credibility of the insect would have been harmed irreparably. Some say that there’s no such thing as bad publicity. I’m sure that most woodlice would disagree.
The woodlouse! Most unassuming. No prior alarm, just sauntering until disturbed, then curling. Into something like a ball-bearing. Unobtrusive. I would never dare request rent from them. They aren’t eavesdropping. They’re just. Passing. Through. You could tear the Earth asunder, up by its roots. You could hammer and pulverize the orb, and, at the end, there would still be woodlice in that final crevasse. Waiting for the all-clear. I find that comforting to know.
Your demeanor jibes with your color and sheen. Not like the eerie silverfish, but like a freshly-painted frigate.
Sail on, Woodlouse! Across the rolling basement slab. Venture forth, and bold! Seldom deterred. To the plastic wreath in storage. From the end-tables stored away, to the banked electric meter. For I know not what.
You evolutionary wonder. I dare not fathom your aspiration, but crawl on! To the four-minute decimeter. Let me sing your praise- chisel it in Microsoft Word. Let not the snake postpone your terrain-itinerary. Let not the bird hinder your mysterious, steady endeavor. Let your antennae soak in my praise as your due.
But, if you curl up, I will heed that hint. I will take your unique cue and go my way.
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Comments
they DO saunter! I like
they DO saunter! I like watching them too. They always look like they are trying desperately to be hard working and efficient like ants but they can't crawl up walls and keep forgetting what they are supposed to be doing. Which they cover by sauntering off. I wonder if they are whistling in a frequency we can't hear
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