An autobiographical love song.
You have to go out of your way to find a patch of green
One floor off the ground may as well be top of a tower
And the balcony's already full of those parasites called flowers
But that's OK, I've got the antidote to urban woes
In a nest I made from plastic, cardboard, duct tape, and pantyhose
Right there in my closet is the food chain's prima donna
This Earth would be a dump if not for soil mesofauna
I've got momma worms and grandpa worms and little vermicelli
Red and pink and white with a coat of slimy jelly
They're beautiful and shy and they're a lovely earthy-smelly
And each turns guck to gold in its long transforming belly.
Oh, I used to have a cat who wouldn't deign to share my food
But my wormies think that everything I offer them is good
Piles of rotting veggie scraps, soggy, sour, and fungal
Squash guts that sprout into a weird chlorotic jungle
Burnt rice and apple bruises, skin of sweet potato
I keep an eye on the pH and carbon:nitrogen ratio
My roommate adds the coffee grounds, my sister sends the eggshells
The newspapers I rip to shreds each Sunday during X-Files
For my momma worms....
Oh, every worm is female and all the worms are males
Direct light makes them flail their heads or possibly their tails
I used to hunt for them with gloves, but now I bare my hands
To feel the subtle slither of those soft translucent strands
At first glance all you see is dirt and clumps of rotting stuff
Look close and you'll see life and death and frequent fruit fly love
There's a touchy-feeling thrill to helping move the circle round
So the ground can feed my table and my table feed the ground.
With my momma worms...