It’s true that worms are rather gender exuberant. But I always tend to think of them as male. This may be because of childhood books like How to Eat Fried Worms or maybe it’s purely Freudian.

But I don’t like Freud, so I reject that possibility.

Most likely, it’s a reflection of my own narcissism. Most things are…..

If this is an earthworm, earthworms are more ambiguous than male pronouns allow for.

However, in my reading of this poem, I allow for the drift of theric’s imagination. Especially since he attempted to rescue the worm from what for the worm was very definitely a “concrete waste.”

Points for that.

Actually, I think you’re right. I should have had you advise me before I called it done.

And yes, I am a worm lover. I lost hours of my childhood saving worms stranded after a storm.

I say “lost” but I would use other words. Those hours were time well spent.

I like the brevity of this moment—how it comes then goes just as quickly as the worm or as the sun that’s just come out and then, perhaps, darts behind a cloud (that is, if the sun could dart)—and the concern for even the worm. So maybe Th.’s not a tree-hugger but a worm-lover…

My one real quibble with it is the word “gentle.” In my opinion “A flick to the / dirt under a bush” says more without the “gentle” cliche holding it back.

But that’s just me…