We looped a thread around the beetle’s body.
It buzzed over our heads.
Circling, circling, circling.
No remorse. No retreat.
Wasn’t about life. Wasn’t about a game.
Was about the day, was about time.
The Scarab Beetle, lost in the world.
Found.
Only to be handcuffed for being strong.
Held down, flight cancelled for the night.
The next day, dead. The thread tied around its corpse.
Limp-like, breathless.
The salagubang. A friend.