No Milk, Straight Bug Soup

No Milk, Straight Bug Soup


“soup’s on!”

i come darting around the corner

to it, ravenous, ready with soup

spoon bulging, plunging into it –


khaki colored goop bleeding

orange and mud green from

carrots, broccoli cooked to death,

lentils, barley, runny soppy

bread bathing in the bowl,

buttered and melting,

chunks of tiny vegetables

from cans and farms and dirt –

piping hot like a flower pot


I scoop fast spoonfuls into my

gourd, chewing, slurping,

swallowing, dribbling down

my rat-haired chin,

when I notice in the goop

of the soup

little gnat legs, dead

miniature bugs resting in

peace in pieces in

my vegetable soup,

more of them,

millions, like they’re breeding,

but remain dead, unmoving

unless i poke at them with

my spoon or mush them

into vegetable soup mess


i stir them in, notice a billion

more, tiny dead wings and things

dead in my soup,

gnat brains explode beneath

the weight of my jaw –


i eat the soup anyway

and lick the bowl, clean


Written in Asheville, NC 2012


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