Nightmares of a Giant Hand Clutching a Shoe (Polyphylla Decemlineata)

A light sleeper, she awoke to the thud 
of a heavy bug hitting the floor

to land on its back, all legs wildly churning.
What makes such an insect lose its grip?
Now that I think about it, how did it ever

cling to the ceiling in the first place?
She didn’t bother to ask, but let loose a wild shriek, 
flipped the bedside garbage bin to trap 
the creature underneath, careful not to squash it,
being even more afraid of squirting out its insides 
than of being bitten, or even just brushed by
a flailing leg, a madly waving antenna. 
She shuddered just to imagine that tickle on your skin,
and summoned me to dispose of the intruder. 
 I think it hissed at me, she said. 
June beetles tend to do that when threatened, 
I said, explaining that the sound 
comes not from its mouth but from air forced 
from its body by its vibrating wings. 
They’re harmless, though. Isn’t that 

fascinating? I asked her. 

Kill it, she said. 

A few days later, she shook me awake 

in the middle of the night. Look, she bawled. 

There’s another one. 

Another appeared the following night, 

and two more over the weekend. 

The cat must be bringing them in, she decided; 

she’d shut all the windows, and the beasts 

were too huge to slip in through the cracks of the old house.

I patiently deported each one, carrying them

across the street to release into the neighbor’s hydrangeas. 

The ones that had died in captivity, I took 
into the basement, put them in jars on a shelf 
where you wouldn't see them. 

By the end of the summer I had collected enough

to create my own suit of beetle armor. 

I glued the striped shells all over my jacket, 

then eyed the ceiling, wondering if, 

since I was now part bug, 

I might be able to cling upside down from it. 

I cracked my knuckles, flexed my fingers, 

and stretched my hands toward the wall...

And it worked! 
I scrabbled up to the ceiling 

and scurried happily around the light fixture.

Unlike the sulky Mr. Samsa, I was delighted

by my transformation. However, 
no sooner had I begun to enjoy 
my upside-down existence

than I felt myself losing my grip 
and I fell, landing on my back on the floor, 

legs wildly churning as I tried to right myself. 

The light was shut out by the garbage can
she slammed down over me.

I scrabbled at the metal sides but the can 

was too heavy to lift. I cried out for her

but all she heard was a hissing, 

like air forced from beneath the striped shells 
of a scared scarab's wings.