Whacking Weeds

Over the weekend, I whacked the weeds that had grown between the paver stones. These were the toughest weeds in the entire yard, and I felt terrible about beheading them. They didn’t do anything to me, aside from grow in an unfortunate space.

When I was finished, I began to sweep up the aftermath and saw an inch-long beetle lying on its back, dead. What attracted my attention to the insect was the pair of shiny flies checking out the scene of the crime. I had to look away, as large bugs (let alone dead ones) unnerve me.

I kept at the task of sweeping and threw away the yard waste. I went back over to the beetle to find ants walking all around it. It was at that precise moment that I thought to myself:

“These flies and ants must be confused about how such an enormous insect could meet such a sudden and violent end. This was an armored and seemingly-indestructible behemoth that had just walked among them a few minutes ago. Do they understand that there are greater forces around them that make their lives seem insignificant?”

Then I compared the insects to humans, and my brain nearly exploded.


Author: Aidan Badinger

Wharved.com I am a poet. I write poems. Titles and subjects and subsequent readership are all part of one fragmented figment of our universe, and it's nice that we take it so seriously. Hopefully the craft remains and grows stronger for our children.

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