An ordinary bug

(Camouflaged as a leaf)

Crawls along our picnic rug,

Quiet as a thief,


Coyly killing time,

Practicing deceptive kicks

As a prelude to the major crime

Of impersonating sticks,


Never standing still for long,

As, in its modest microcosm,

Looking good is always wrong

(A bug is safer as a blossom),


Where the hunter of our pompous airs

Who catalogues disguises

Is the one who really cares,

And anonymity wins prizes -


But here comes something fine,

Waddling across a plate,

Looking nothing like a vine,

Flying in the face of fate,


Kaleidoscopically fraught

With colors, like a thing

That a distant uncle bought

Unaccountably in Beijing,


A baby, imprecise and pink,

Bumbling through our lunch,

An iridescent solar zinc

Directed by some higher hunch


That the element of surprise

Might paralyze our predatory sight

While it stumbles into kinder skies -

And, you know, it's right.