Just when I thought
nothing could shake me,
a cooked cricket
showed up on our Christmas turkey,

not crispy, but thoroughly well done,
black body sprawled across a browned thigh.

Awakened by the warmth of the oven
from winter hibernation
in a dark, safe place—the roaster,

it began the final journey
in ever increasing heat
and then succumbed,
at least where we could see

before taking a crunchy bite.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
©1996