I’m not going to say that it wasn’t
A fucked up thing for Gregor Samsa
To suddenly wake up as a cockroach
But I still say that it would’ve been
Even more traumatic for a cockroach
To suddenly wake up as a human
Sure his fiancé left him
Sure he lost his job
Sure his family was happy when he was dead
But it was good that he found out who’s who
And that all is conditional
The roach knows what’s what
That existence is
A delicate balance of
Cooperation and competition
That sentiments
Do you about as much good
As a busted leg
And it knows better
To stay away
That the light of lies
Can’t penetrate the darkness
Under the refrigerator
That the stink
And corruption of
Institutions
Can’t find it
In the walls
That the roach motel
Or death by suffocating poison
Sure the hell beats
Consciousness that cripples
Once the roach becomes man
Where does it hide?
Two legs aren’t as good as six
And it isn’t used to being
Such a big target
deuce coupe 
Joe Cloyd is currently exiled in Tobyhanna , PA where he hangs out with his wife and two-year old daughter, and works at a public library. His hobbies include playing the bass guitar, bitterness, ambivalence, and writing short fiction and poetry. He enjoys reading philosophy, history, the classics, comic books, and of course short fiction and poetry. He is the founder, editor, and pretty much the sole-contributor to the highly acclaimed blog blog, Super Clod Clod Online Litzine. http://superclodclod.wordpress.com
Thanks for posting this, and a double thanks for fixing that error.
Mr. Cloyd,
Four legs good. Two legs bad.