A Bug

Caleb crawled after a black bug.
He caught it.
It crawled up his arm and under his chin,
And he sat, serene, as it snuck under
His necklace. No twitching, no discomfort.
Just peace, as the bug’s six legs carried it
Under his shirt.

I laughed until I realized that I was about
To put him to bed, in my bed,
And if the bug was still there, it might crawl on me,
And I would not be so serene.

I patted him down, and shook out his shirt,
But no bug showed. It made a great escape.

Perhaps we should have named Caleb
Francis, or Agassiz, those who loved living things,
Saint and scientist.

Perhaps he will be both!