Clark and Lewis

By Matt Robertshaw

Behind a bag of expired potatoes on the bottom shelf of a dank kitchen cupboard, there lived a cockroach named Clark. In truth, he lived happily enough in his mildewy little dwelling, but he loved to get out. The great joy of his life, in fact, was to roam about the linoleum expanse, each night when the light went out, scavenging for crumbs. After he had eaten his fill of the delectable little morsels, Clark would quite often nod off right in the middle of the floor. Sometimes he would wake calmly with the sunrise and stagger home. More often, though, not long after midnight Clark would be jolted from his breadcrumb-induced slumber with the flick of a switch. The single lightbulb that watched over the room would blaze to life, and Clark would scurry away home. He couldn't stand the light.

     Lewis loved the light. He was a moth, after all. He would wake in the evening and head straight for the window sill, where he waited, and when that midnight light lit up he creeped in through the corner where the screen was peeled back and straight into the kitchen. He would blissfully execute the most perfect figure eights, barrel rolls and loop-the-loops, basking all the while in the magnificent incandescent glow. When the light was extinguished would he set about finding some old pants or a tasty scarf to munch on.
     This went on for many years.
     Though he was getting older, Clark the cockroach had a keen ear. Every day as he scurried home, and even after he'd settled in for the night, he heard the sound of Lewis' fluttering wings. It was the same thing, night after night. It was so predictable that Clark thought there had to be a connection. "That oppressive light only comes on when that moth shows up," he said to himself. "If he would only stay outside I'd have a free reign."
     As for Lewis, he was also aware of Clark's activities. As the moth sat and waited patiently on the window sill he saw the roach ambling about in the dark. It was not until Clark decided to leave that the light would turn on. It couldn't be a coincidence. "It must be the roach," he thought. "The sooner he leaves, the sooner the benevolent beams appear."
     One night, Lewis was looking down on Clark as the cockroach made his way across the floor. Midnight came and went, and the bulb remained dormant. Lewis waited impatiently as Clark fell asleep in the middle of the floor. Stalling. "If only he would hurry up!" cried the moth. "Maybe I can reason with him." And he slipped into the room and fluttered down to talk to Clark.
     The telltale sound of Lewis' wings shook Clark from his slumber. "It must be the time!" he bellowed, and hurried home.
     "At last, he's gone!" said Lewis, and he shot up to the top of the room and took a few unsatisfying laps around the gloomy grey bulb. "Perhaps I'm getting old," he thought, "this isn't as fun as it used to be." He drifted off and made a meal of an old sock.
     The following night, Clark had hardly begun his nightly excursion when he was again frightened off by the sound of fluttering wings. Shortly after he had settled back in his little potato sack abode, Clark said to himself, "I don't hear him anymore. Maybe that old moth has left." Not having had his fill of breadcrumbs, Clark went out for a second outing. He peeked his head out of the cupboard. The glaring light shone above, but the moth was nowhere to be seen. The coast was clear.
     From then on Clark would unhappily scamper about under the blinding light until he heard the mean old moth's beating wings. Lewis would unhappily circle a dark bulb so long as that scoundrel of a cockroach was no where to be seen.

The Firefly

by Matt Robertshaw

'Behold the way my body glows,' the firefly professed.

'I can flit about all night, while other bugs must rest.

'Though beautiful the butterfly, industrious the bee,

'The day was made for everyone, while night is just for me.'

The firefly began to think and came to the conclusion
That all his life he'd fallen for an intricate illusion.

'Behold the way my body glows,' he said with all his might.
'Though everyone must share the day, I'm master of the night.
'Forget about the butterfly, the silly little bee.
'It's clear to see that everything was meant to be for me.'

Reaching his conclusion—and because he didn't doubt it,
The time had come to think about what he would do about it.

'Given that the world aligns with my specific features,
'Reasoning would indicate I'm chief among the creatures.
'As chief among the creatures then, it must be understood,
'The things I hate are evil and the things I love are good.'

Critters came from everywhere to hear his thoughtful lessons,
Shining light on matters with his bioluminescence.

'Behold the way my body glows,' he always would begin.
'I must insist you bow to me whenever I come in.
'Inferior the butterfly, irrelevant the bee.
'The day belongs to everyone and they belong to me.'