Thumper

Does a beetle
Feel pain
When it walks on
The carpet

And is set upon
By any blunt object
I can find?

When its legs are
Paralyzed
Does it know
That it’s its time?

As it writhes,
Does it writhe?
Does it know that’s
What it’s doing?

When it slows
After it sustains
Another blow
Does it know

It’s dying?
‘Will it be missed?’
I ponder as I
Hit it again,

Observing its
Legs tear in two,
It leaves them behind
Trying to escape.

If it spoke
Would it scream
To protest
At my cruelty?

It doesn’t bleed
But its shell is
Hammered
Viciously.

Still squirming,
“Writhing”,
But ever so slowly
Fading out.

Fading away,
And with this
Percussive eulogy
I say:

Stay the fuck out of my house.

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