I have to admit it,
in this life, I have been
wrong about somethings.
Most, not complicated, nor of
raised eyebrow interest.
However, there are those instances
where the picayune nature
of events and, or, misunderstanding,
cause me to quibble,
to make prevaricating comments,
just to hide my ignorance,
assuming I am truly capable,
Instigated by a provocateur,
a grinning interrogation:
“Are there,water bears in your glass?”
‘What the hell is that?’
Then that smug,
thin lip smirk:
“Are you drinking a mossy piggy?”
‘Creepy, are you a pervert?’
Laughter, followed my exit.
I have always disdained smart asses,
their mocking generalities, common.
The internet cured my intellectual
illness on the subject at hand.
It appears, eutelic extremophiles,
are everywhere, those water bears
and mossy piggies are found
on the highest mountain,
in the deepest sea,
in boiling water, in frigid
absolute zero, in your glass
of water, the phytophagous,
©2014, Donald Harbour
Dave Bonta, an online poet acquaintance of mine, threw out a challenge, write a poem about tardigrades. Not my favorite subject until I saw and read about this marvelous little creature. I apologize if this does not meet your standards for poetry, however, you try writing about a Tardigrade.