Pick Your Poison

The worms drag themselves up onto the pavement to die,

choosing desiccation

in lieu of slow suffocation.

Drown or be drained dry.

The sun scuttles behind thin cloud cover.

Shadows filter down upon the scattered corpses

of invertebrates that litter the concrete,

bloated in death.

I avoid crushing them with

careful footsteps.

The spring air is damp, with a lingering chill

from winter recently departed.

It is cut off abruptly

as the office door clicks shut behind my

careful footsteps.