by David Whippman
The fact is: I am the last human in the world.
The huge white insects whose hive this must be
try to impersonate men, but they move and speak
faster than a person should. Even so
I obey their rules, for they attack in groups
and use metal stings. I try not to shout
the truth even when it whispers at me
and I do not refuse the offered white circles.
(Brown squares are optional.) What do the insects want?
Their talk is nonsense: baths and food
And most absurd of all, unbroken mirrors.
They know nothing about the threat of shape,
the significance of colours. I will keep my thoughts
to myself. There are no humans left to listen.
© 2001 David Whippman
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