He mumbled
Below short breaths
How people will
Call him a loser,

Since killing bugs
Professionally
Just didn’t mean shit
In this world –

An unfortunate view
Many held
About those whose role
Seemed revolting
And appeared absurd
When comparing
Much fancier jobs
Against pests

Which crawled on floors
Where they worked
Trailing daring paths
Behind humans
Whose privileged lives
Never bothered
Noticing ants
Underneath,

Like the man
Still chasing that roach
Or enduring weeks
Trapping vermin
Soon telling me
Even his family
Had mocked such feats
Every day.

Yet strangely,
He lifted one sleeve
Now showing tattoos
That depicted
Christ our Lord
Shedding teardrops
Alongside words
Spelling fate,

Feeling somehow
I’d also believe
That story once shared
Of his car crash
Swearing death itself
Revealed heaven
After passing away
Long ago –

True experience
Blessing deep gifts
No judgmental soul
Can appreciate,

Attaching worth
Without knowing
Significance waits
Beyond flesh.

Like insects
We often cause fear,

Inspiring pain
More than passion,

So divinity chose
An exterminator
To reveal
Better places exist.

• J. Pigno