Hundreds of cockroaches drowned today.
It was just as well they died at sea – no-one holds funerals for beetles,
this way there’ll be less of a mess.
In the old days, we used to buy the cockroaches,
Bring them over the oceans in slightly safer ships,
And we’d have them work in our fields,
Snipping cotton for us as the sun seared their shells.
Here’s a secret; the cockroaches have never swum too well.
Back then, we’d throw the sick ones over the side
but now money drowns them,
And we smirk as their brown lungs fill with salt and silt,