Nearly sucking up a woodlouse
in the vacuum cleaner,
an unseen finger taps me on the head.
Surely, it says, you have the time
to find a bit of card
or an old envelope
and move this little fellow
to the flower bed?
Plucked from the wall,
it rolls into a ball and waves its legs
towards the vast omnipotent above,
as if to say
I did not expect this of you.
