A girl, a woman really, sits inside staring--
for hours in front of a blank, blank screen
and, eventually, these poems appear.
But she’s not exactly sure they’re poems
Aren’t poems supposed to have images?
Like the girl sitting, on the dirty gray couch,
her face tense as the screen fills with words,
but how mundane they are
and how ordinary the image is—
Can’t she put in something exciting?
Something like a red caterpillar?
The thing now crawls with its hundreds of legs,
shuffles over and sits down next to her,
pokes her with his long spiny tendrils,
willing her engagement now.
She tries to groom him, he’s full of poison,
speak with him, but he only lies.
At long last, she closes the screen--
with a shriek and a puff, he’s vanished away.
The red caterpillar, of course, echoes WC Williams's red wheelbarrow, but what a transformation! Those hundreds of legs, the audacity of that image, poking her, lying to her---how could I resist this poem-like poem? That caterpillar is definitely "emerging"!