Prudence Angel Worm

1) How simple life might be
as a sunflower, degree of rotation
programed

from birth, no question
what to do. On “bring a pretty
caterpillar to school”

day, I found myself
with something ugly
that the teacher called “A prudence
angel worm” and promptly,

dangerously, I threw the jar
from the nearest window.

2) I’ve learned
to eschew ornament, to follow
function—if only till time
to dust the day’s task
from my palms.  A collection

of wavy lines, I could be water
as painted by Giotto for the grandest
cathedral. If called for

an encore, I hope to be impenitent,
a facho wild boar

 disheveling an assembly
of sunflowers while her pet worm, Angel,
struggles to keep up.

Angela Ball’s sixth and most recent book of poetry is Talking Pillow (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2017). She teaches in the Center for Writers at the University of Southern Mississippi in Hattiesburg, where she lives with her two dogs, Miss Bishop and Boy.