On Finding Maggots at the Bottom of the Trash Can            

Somehow, the sight was enough.
I can still feel them,
first on my sandaled feet,

a small phantom itch, and later
when I acknowledge it, static
and pin-pricks all over my body.

I did not touch one, only
washed them out with the hose,
my thumb covering the mouth

to create a powerful spray 
that loosened their wriggling
bodies. Writing it all down,

it occurs to me that this
is yet another deed
that fails to merit mention

like a small theft or large
masturbation, for example,
or just good old-fashioned

self-deprecation. I’m afraid
I can’t keep my mouth shut
and if no one ever reads this,

that’s okay, in fact, maybe
it’s for the best. I wouldn’t
wish this itch on anyone.