Behold a tale of myst’ry and woe
And the questionable fate of where cockroaches go
Upon their death, if they ever die,
(For nobody knows if they do…sigh.)
Heaven, hell, or the next door apartment?
Do they die outside or in a compartment?
They can resist a bomb scare, or so I’ve been told,
But doesn’t a cockroach ever grow old?
I once saw one fall down a drain;
Another in the fridge was fain
To take a nap, and never quite
Woke up from the cold, oh what a fright.
When cleaning to extinguish them
I found five exoskeletons
Atop the black refrigerator.
They died before; I found them later.
But most remain a mystery.
Many are born, oh cute babies;
They grow into teenager years,
And then their adult fuzz appears.
Brown and hairy are their legs,
And they continue to lay eggs
But rarely do I find them dead;
They only multiply instead.
I hope you enjoyed this poem! As you likely noticed in my last post and in this poem, I’ve had quite a few adventures living with Mr. Cockroach and his family. The German roaches are mysterious and plentiful neighbors, bold and full of life to be sure! If you cracked a smile at either post, be sure to like it and share through your social media. (I know you’re on it!) And don’t be shy; comment your own cockroach stories below, too. (No spider ones allowed though. Seriously, I can’t stand those creatures.)
God bless, and may your lives be
As mine it seems, may never be.