by theric jepson
Worm on the sidewalk
as the sun comes out €”
How did they miss him?
How’d he escape breakfast?
A gentle flick to the
dirt under a bush,
and walk on.
May he survive.
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Wilderness Interface Zone 
Theric, a poet? Who knew….
I like the brevity of this moment—how it comes then goes just as quickly as the worm or as the sun that’s just come out and then, perhaps, darts behind a cloud (that is, if the sun could dart)—and the concern for even the worm. So maybe Th.’s not a tree-hugger but a worm-lover…
My one real quibble with it is the word “gentle.” In my opinion “A flick to the / dirt under a bush” says more without the “gentle” cliche holding it back.
But that’s just me…
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Actually, I think you’re right. I should have had you advise me before I called it done.
And yes, I am a worm lover. I lost hours of my childhood saving worms stranded after a storm.
I say “lost” but I would use other words. Those hours were time well spent.
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I have a slight issue with labeling said worm “he,” “him.”
If this is an earthworm, earthworms are more ambiguous than male pronouns allow for.
However, in my reading of this poem, I allow for the drift of theric’s imagination. Especially since he attempted to rescue the worm from what for the worm was very definitely a “concrete waste.”
Points for that.
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It’s true that worms are rather gender exuberant. But I always tend to think of them as male. This may be because of childhood books like How to Eat Fried Worms or maybe it’s purely Freudian.
But I don’t like Freud, so I reject that possibility.
Most likely, it’s a reflection of my own narcissism. Most things are…..
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Gotta be honest, Th. I don’t know what to make of this at all. . .
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