Corpses of worms crushed on the wide sidewalk
Or drowned, extended in the deep-water depressed places,
Headed cross-hatched across, against the traffic of
stressed, fast-walking, oblivious teens racing
the rain to their next rounds to speak.
The worms were headed out; hoping (if worms can hope)
for the other side of something;
Making trails for someplace dry enough to breathe.
And the speakers mashed them.
Step on a worm, you make your mother squirm.
Night crawlers out of their element this day;
They came in last - and they weren't even trying for medals.
And the competing teens - they never care enough for the
blind innocents they crush as they cross them
on their track to
First place.