I saw, on Mount Gravatt in Queensland once,
a row of green furred caterpillars twenty-five feet long,
click-clacking head to tail, each one a carriage
in a narrow train that wound up from the bush
and off across the road, as though the leader
had a map of where this strange procession
ought to go. A car swooped round the bend,
squashed him to mush. The cortege stopped,
the carriages behind the ruined head
milled for a while, and then, as though they'd
nominated, voted and elected a new guide,
one caterpillar moved ahead, the rest fell in behind
and they set off again across the road.
Below the hill, the traffic roared.
Previously published in the North Carolina Poetry Society's
"Award Winning Poems, 2000"
Used with the permission of the Poet.
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