Shame on you who so casually step over your fallen squirmy comrades. It’s these pink, earthbound S, I and J shapes that make life worth living. They aerate our ground, bait our fishhooks and frighten our little sisters. But after the rains, do you take a moment’s notice to salute them, as their bloated, pale S-, I- or J-shaped corpses float in puddles? No. And only because the worm poets have been repressed by our worm-phobic society, you’ve never stopped to consider their plight. Shame on you, indeed.

Drink of the Week

Shot of Tequila