Conversation with a Condemned Cricket

 The three-legged, poisoned cricket in the kitchen
greets me, all accusation—Why 
the tempting toxin chamber
—was not my life already so
much more painful than yours? 

It was only, I reply, that 
I couldn’t bear your singing
—not when I wanted to cradle
 —so quietly—
 my sorrow.

Like this, he said, I

cannot sing.

It was only was only the echo

of unbearable should-have-been 

you must have been hearing.