Alice BELL

COCKROACH

Here is a peddler on my kitchen floor,
A madman with a broken back. He'll barter
Bits of detritus, my own black spoor
My crumbs and soily nickels. Greedy martyr,
Miser, opportunist. At a touch
He flies away like leaves, takes up his pack,
Becomes a million demons, some nonesuch
Who whistles in the sink, or hides a tack
Inside the sugar bowl. I stamp and call,
I search the tissue boxes. Like a sneeze,
He answers: "I am Legion, I am All,"
And scratches in the plaster. No decrees,
No exorcist can bar him from my home.
He cheats me- selling me what I've always owned.

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