Millipede Cheevy
Martin Elster

Millipede Cheevy, child of soil,

    grew sad reflecting on the reasons

grass is plastic. No more toil

    through summer seasons.

 

Millipede loved the days of grass

    when all her thousand feet together

drove her forward through a mass

    of sod so nether.

 

Millipede sighed for bygone rot

    and scorned this artificial meadow.

“Astroturf gets way too hot!”

    she cried falsetto.

 

Millipede Cheevy thought, “Vacate

    this galling eyesore they’re installing!”

Millipede carped and kvetched, irate,

    and kept on crawling.

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Published in Pulsebeat Poetry Journal, September 2025

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Martin Elster, who never misses a beat, was for many years a percussionist with the Hartford Symphony Orchestra (now retired). Aside from playing and composing music, he finds contentment in long walks in the woods or the city and, most of all, writing poetry, often alluding to the creatures and plants he encounters. His career in music has influenced his fondness for writing metrical verse, which has appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies in the US and abroad. His honors include Rhymezone’s poetry contest (2016) co-winner, the Thomas Gray Anniversary Poetry Competition (2014) winner, the 2022 Helen Schaible International Sonnet Contest winner, the Science Fiction Poetry Association’s poetry contest (2015) third place, a Best of the Net nomination, and five Pushcart nominations. His latest collection, From Pawprints to Flight Paths: Animal Lives in Verse, is forthcoming from Kelsay Books.

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