Their host's honor
I thought that they were lice,
They were all around my helmet.
It turns out they were mites.
I looked them up online.
Lice are big,
Mites could live on them.
Taking dust and nutrients,
From their host's armor.
Dust mites, plump mites
Tiny see-through stomachs,
Who knows what's in them.
There's one on my notebook,
A lamplight in the storm.
I looked them up online.
Little wheelbarrows,
Half a brain.
They're squishable,
They leave barely a trace.
Yet something's feeding them.
And something's moving them.
It's the strain,
And the dampness.
Copyleft 2009
(reprinting or retransmitting is OK as long as author is given credit)
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