i heard buzzing from over my shoulder,
put down my pen and stared
at the light fixture
feeling territorial, feeling feline.
i jumped to test my lazy legs,
touched the ceiling once, twice.

i waited, both silent now.
too late for the smaller silence.

i crushed it with a magazine
(a beetle, an Esquire),
the yellow stain of entrails bylining
a short story by Mary-Louise Parker
(the cover bylined prior by a prior beetle).

i hit it once more on the floor.
mercy, or,
“and stay out.”

i tore the page and read
her beautiful vignette.
her entrails intermingled with the insect’s.

i returned to my deskchair,
legs spry for murder now unsure.
i doubt the creature would have endorsed this end,
but it has the loveliest epitaph of a coffin.