I watch at my kitchen window
the feet and pale bellies of numerous moths 
on the window screen

These have come from the night
to be mesmerized by my fluorescent light
as I wash the dishes.

What addictive magic is in the light
that can so hold their attention 
while a substantial part of their short lives passes?

What might other moths be doing now,
the successful moths, the Bill Gates moths? 
Building cocoons, reproducing, eating?

Might these wastrels squander their courtship and childbearing hours 
unwittingly eliminating this proclivity from their collective genes
sparing future generations this hapless fate?

With the dishes finished I leave these questions unanswered
and retire to the living room for my TV time until bed.
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