ODE TO THE LADY BUG
O, orange dome with black polka dots—
you’re the one insect I won’t squash.
The wings you unpack from your shell and unfurl
like sails are feats of engineering.
You’re hungry for aphids, beetle eggs,
mealy bugs—not me.
And because you devour enemies of crops
and roses, you’re linked to Virgin Mary.
Your mate holds you for hours when
you make love. No wonder some think
just seeing you is an omen
of love and babies.