Poem
Japanese-American Beetle
by Aaron DeLee
You’re not some simple B-flick horror
you black and copper bug, but a summer
blockbuster, bursting up from every
fertilized lawn once you’ve shot that grubby
stage; your grassroots long gone. Six-legged, starred,
and full of buzz, you win attention by
tagging yourself on shoulders, nagging
heads, tangled in hair, stuck like bad ads all
over, on airwaves even, pitching
your way onto fingertips, pinching bit
reminders as you reel toward those prized
roses that you deface, you decimate,
picking away all that green between
lined veins, perforations; skeletonized
so that even the sun will burn those
frail bushes like film devoured by
zealous projectors. Concessions must
be made, so baggy ornaments
loiter in yards, collecting your slick,
iridescent, celluloid carapace
attracted by an engrossing stench.
About Aaron DeLee
Aaron DeLee was born and raised in South Bend, Indiana. He received his BA in Creative Writing from Loyola University Chicago. His work has been performed by VOX3, a Chicago opera troupe, and has also appeared in various journals, including the Found Poetry Review and Interrobang. He is currently an MFA candidate at Northwestern University.
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