Candide Redux Rev. Poem by William F Dougherty

Il faut cultiver notre jardin. -Voltaire.

I cultivate my garden plot, though bound
within this toad for safety, I don't protest
metamorphosis but bask on my ground,
warmed by the sun's theodicy, digest
such gnats and flies I diurnally astound
and gorge on whines. Insecticide is best—
exophthalmic eyes help harvest sound
from Leibnitz's monads. I forget the rest.

Whatever is- is best, Pangloss would say.
Social menace past, I'm safely obscure,
no longer trusting victim, easy prey,
I keep perceptive vigils, rarely stir:
that wrinkle in the grass, looping this way,
is merely a slither of wind, I'm sure.