Poet's Choice: By Robert Pinsky

broke open and the imago, the true adult,

somersaulted out and took flight, seeking

the swarm, mouth-pans vestigial,

alimentary canal come to a stop,

a day or hour left to find the desired one?

Or when Casanova took up the platter

of linguine in squid's ink and slid the stuff

out the window, telling his startled companion,

"The perfected lover does not eat."

As a child, didn't you find it calming to imagine

pinworms as some kind of tiny batons

giving cadence to the squeezes and releases