Weta

Ancient insect emerged
from the primeval bush
you are caught up in
today’s surge of humanity,
swept into our urban gardens.
Crickets and grasshoppers
from foreign countries
jostle and crowd you
in the gardens where
city birds hunt you,
though wary of
your barbed back legs,
your sharp nipping teeth.
The feline immigrants
who luxuriate in
the comfort of our homes
hunt you in our gardens.

Your brown armour blends into
the branches of hedge and shrub,
your barbed back legs grip twigs
as you jump along searching
for leafy delicacies.
But still the tabby hunter
finds you and deposits
sad corpses on our floors.

Grandad would like to tell her
you are a protected species
of ancient lineage.
He has no words to do this,
her collar bell gives you no warning.

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Weta

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