Member Poem

An earthworm squirms, its fate unsure,
on pavement hot as soup du jure.
Norm comes upon it. “Little Noodle,”
he says, “you’ll bake like apple strudel.”

Norm sizes up the situation.
The worm’s at risk of dehydration.
“I could have squished it with my sandal,”
says Zip. “Far worse than being a vandal.”

“Yes,” says Norm, “you’d be a felon.
Good thing you didn’t! There’s no tellin’
what the annelid collective
would do to you as a corrective.”

He pulls his license out and slips
it under Noodle. Girlfriend Zip’s
amazed he’s so tuned in to the plight
of tiny souls. To Zip’s delight,

Norm airlifts Noodle to the shade
(a place for which all worms were made)
as soft as he would with royalty
to picnic in the earth with glee.

“I heard the worm say, ‘Thanks, good sir,’”
says Zip. “You’re a real Worm Whisperer!”
Norm puffs with pride. “Just doing my part —
one squishless step for a wiggly restart.”