Detrivory

The motel mini fridge
Sounds like a small squirrel
Or some woodsy creature

In its nest, with its young,
Chirtling softly to them.
Four hundred million years

Ago, at least, appeared
The true millipedes, beasts
That grew a thousand feet

And dined on leaf litter.
Here in a cheap motel
In an irrelevant

Corner of the desert
For a night, on your way,
You listen to the fridge

And think on your two feet
Of all the leaf litter
Scampering through the lot,

Blown in from cottonwoods
Down by the brown river.
There’s more life underneath.