A shovel in the hole
throwing about the excess
trying to make it larger
digging about
they’re going to find it.

Pacing in the cell
awaiting the final call
it’s their choice
waiting and pacing.

A few holes
air, there is air
breathe quick
slow it down
just a tick.

All shook up
their hands moving fast
a headache setting in
the pain is breaking
this small place suffocating.

The lid is falling
I dodge
a hit upon my head
down I am
I begin to smell it
ready to feed
hunger.

I eat
and in that thought
I lay down
as if I must accept
this is home
the bottom of this jar
I die now
or I die later
free is neither.

For the prompt of this poem I was picturing what it’d be like to be an insect trapped in a jar. Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina