The Massacre of the Cockroaches

They were starting to appear.
Next, the exterminator
Was here. This is not our house.
We don’t call the poisoned shots.

We watch. That’s our job. We gave
That to ourselves: watch and talk.
Now we watch them all crawl out
From their favorite, toxic cracks

To wander into the house,
Die six legs up on their backs,
Get fried by the courtyard sun,
Fall prey to happy lizards.

We rather like our lizards.
We worry for those lizards.
You can’t slaughter everything.
You can’t value everything.