The art of interrogation (p 102)
Excuse me, sir (or maybe
ma'am) but may I ask why
you are here in my house?
This is my brown-plaid blanket
you're crawling on, you see,
my gold plush chair. And
it's not that I am particularly
possessive; nevertheless,
you do have this stinger on
your backside. A beautiful
little evolution like this surely
does not demand the death
penalty, but I'm also afraid
I can talk no reason to you.
Where I'm getting is here:
Will you please be kind and
cooperative enough to hop
right into this glass jar? I will
set you free outside, to get back
to your hive, my butterfly bushes,
your sweet larvae. Why ever
leave these in the first place?
Why abandon the fresh smell
of dewy morning mist, each
flower's distinctive nectar, for
the fibers in my throw, the
coolness of air conditioning,
and the darkness accompanying
life played out under a roof?
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