South
I was a cockroach he couldn’t kill
So he slid me onto a paper
Put a cup over me and dumped me
In the desert
“Good luck with her,” he told the desert
And the desert’s winds replied
With a fierce “Thank you”
I was unsure about this desert
It was too hot
When the last one was too cold
I’ve since learned
Heat is a good thing
At first I worried
I would burn in the white sun
But after many moments
I realized I was a cockroach
And a cockroach could not die
Even if it wanted to
Now I have accepted
That I have been dumped in the desert
Sometimes its wind
is too cool in the nights
And too hot in the days
And sometimes the wind
Does not come at all
It is flat all around me
And any direction I travel
I make no progress
So instead I have taken
To digging
And I have found the life of the desert
Is below.