l'Homme de Verre

We can eat less if we're asked to.
It isn't that often when we sit
scabby-kneed and dusty, praising our shoelaces
for tying themselves.
Dressed in a sagging porch and swollen corduroy
we watched a mosquito turn to skeleton
to learn from our chalky white mistakes
And the structured sandcastle built for scorpions rolled beneath the craggy rocks
we had put there.