Spent several hours trying not to crawl at the the cockroach party this afternoon.   They called it an English Department meeting, but we all knew what it was.  The head roach led us in some feeler-twitching to celebrate the excellent ways in which we are all coping with the budget cuts: bigger classes, lecture sessions, no raises.  But we will get bonuses, since we are fat, lucky Tennessee roaches!  We are happy and surprised.  For hours.  We try not to fall asleep amid the crumbs.  We twitch our little feelers and dream of dark corners with even older food and try not to snore.  Cockroaches do not snore.   Sometimes, late in the afternoon, at our endless meeting that goes on for years, we forget.  We snore.  We growl.  Our names are mentioned, something we have achieved is praised.   Then we roll over and have our tummies scratched. Then we avoid each other in the elevator, go down deep into the cavern of Humanities, reenter our little shells with license plates and university stickers, thank god for our jobs, and drive home.  To the left, mortality/  To the right, write, write, write.   Otherwise, we roaches live our lives in shrinking orbits, and then, in obits.  Yours, Franz K.