Geckos in Obscure Light

Here's a poem from the New Yorker I cut out and put on the fridge. It's pretty fitting for the place I'm staying where the geckos run all over the place, inside and out, and you can hear them chirping loudly at night.

Geckos in Obscure Light
by William Logan
April 23, 2007

Tentative, greedy, by night they came,
drawn to the insects drawn to the light.

Their shadow organs pulsed
beneath bellies distended as Falstaff’s,

backs a tarnished armor studded
with the rosettes of some obscure disease.

What of their victims, the cannon fodder,
Welsh soldiery thrown each night

against the muzzle flare? Ragged, high-strung moths,
green lacewings streamlined like F-16s—

the geckos, like great officers and kings,
took them into their mouths, more or less

at leisure, with a gratifying snap.
Silently, of course, through the pane of glass,

where death comes only on a smaller scale.

(copied from http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2007/04/23/070423po_poem_logan)