Woodlice
We overlook them
like the early symptoms of a disease,
or the daily minutiae we disregard;
dirt under our finger nails.
Last night, exposed by the outside light,
I noticed a gang of woodlice
crowding at my back door,
flexing their antennae,
poised as squatters.
Lurking in the moist underbelly
of patio slabs and floorboards,
festering composts and shadowed sheds,
there in the dark, damp places
like factories of human conscience
their multitudes multiply
Andrew Button lives in Market Bosworth, Leicestershire. He has had poems published in various magazines including Orbis, Canon’s Mouth, Staple, Envoi and Iota. Andrew enjoys the thrill of open mic performance when not working as a librarian in Warwick.