Peter Chapman Poetry


i wonder if it could alter me in any way,
eating that bug today

i was biking north, it was flying south
when it gave up the ghost in the back of my mouth,
a pinchy taste of soured soy
in a moralist recombinant DNA ploy

i think i'd like to stay as me,
unchanged by a random weirdo bee

but if you prefer i sag with gold
and yellow to swallowing
my romantic fellow

you can kiss a windshield
in early summer or lie away
your days
in clover all over