Bug in the Bath
There's a bug in the bath
scuttling on the tile
away from the light and gush of water.
It meanders on the pattern
of a pink and grey flower
following an invisible thread
in a labyrinth.
The steam rises and the feet clamber
then slip, plop into the water.
There pedals like a U-boat.
I scoop it up and land it lightly
on the bath mat.
The bug climbs, frantic
over hills and dales and finds
the cool floor. It sights a haven
in the recess under the pipes,
home of the spider.
Avoiding the predator's gulp,
the bug burrows into the safe earth.
Whence it comes. Wherever it goes.