by Edith Ryan

Woodlouse

Commonly found under old logs
But, also inside houses,
She trundles into cevasses and cracks
On all her fourteen legs.

No backbone but bold and brave,
She loves her children
Nursing them from egg to independence
In a pouch below her crusty body.

Ubiquitous, undistinguished little cleaner,
She hides from centipedes
Toads, shrews and spiders
But does not seem to mind us humans.

Slater, pill bug, busy little body,
She rolls into a ball for her defence
And, when she puts on too much size,
She sheds her shell and gets a larger suit.

She dresses in the drabbest grey
And keeps the secrets of her crazy life.
Even how she deals with her excreta
Would make us marvel if we knew.

Earwig

The clip shears flips on to the window-sill,
Bustling on six legs to some destination,
Leaving me wondering why she is called earwig.

In spite of knowing all her attributes,
Her complex wings and loving motherhood,
Her eerie ways and warrior shape still threaten me.

Can it be her silent, creeping intrusion,
Her unexpectedly appearing in my sink,
That makes me ask what she might do and I not see?

She likes dark places under stones, inside damp cloths,
From which she scuttles leaving me disturbed.
Might she, indeed, seek shelter in my ear?

© Edith Ryan

Edith Ryan is a member of Lanark Writers. She says of these two poems' I wrote them for Maisie Laing who like creepy crawly things.'