my mother wrote a poem:


The cockroach is an ancient soul
She must be old as Eden. (no offense to our Eden!)
She doesn't fight, or ever bite
Just feedin' and a breedin'.

She keeps her furry legs so clean
Her sable shell so gleaming.
Then why does her appearance cause
Disgust and even screaming?

She leaves no stains or holes behind
Her appetite's petite.
Then why do we begrudge her
The minutiae she'll eat?

She really needs a friendly press
Of this there is no doubt.
Why is there not a P R firm
Who'd bring it all about?