Why are there worms when it rains
Gathering to the surface for air, for sun
The pinecones curling like dead bugs
Like upturned cockroaches and beetles
The scent of forgotten aquariums hanging over the dirt
The petrichor stained metal handrails
With grass soaked pools

And after it rained
The corpuses of worms sat
Gruesomely pressed into pavement fossils
Beneath a brown soled sneaker