The Beetle

She had spotted it in the garden,
laying on its back,
dried up under a spider web
that still glistened with pearls of water from the last night's rain.
She didn't know why she picked it up,
or why she slipped it into the front pocket of her apron,
or why she kept it until dinner time,
when she put it onto her Master's plate that she had prepared.
They sat down to eat,
her eyes glued to her meal,
anxiety slowly rising from within her body.
The clank of a fork,
a sudden movement,
her Master's hand dragging her to the bedroom by her hair.
She hears her heart beating,
and his whisper gruff in her ear,
“Why would you intend to feed me a bug for dinner?”
She was a brat, slow to learn,
that these pleas for attention
would only result in greater punishment.
He would teach her tonight,
placing the beetle on the pillow
just above where her head lay face down.
He held her from behind,
informing her that her spankings would not stop
until she had eaten the bug for her dinner.