Mucky Afternoon Kaiju Disaster Triage

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How is it going?

Knee-deep in the compost
of last Autumn’s leaves
is the smell of earthworms having fun
between woodlouse traffic and anthill suburbs.

And then suddenly the sky is splattered.

Catapulting glorious bog-noir stink slime
with my shovel and my amateur lacrosse talent
splattering the nearby tilled vegetable garden
with nutrient-rich loam.

The flung blind earthworms are so dizzy.
I am dizzy too, looking at their plump hydraulic squish
seethe in surprise when I shovel them up.
I am dizzy, the worms are dizzy.

The worms might be dizzier.
They have faces at both ends
and a body mostly made of digestive tunnel
with a pumping aortic arch in each stretchy segment;

whereas I am made of thousands of tubes
that hardly get shoveled into elastic worm rush of space flight
(at least not since my last tire swing, a decade ago).

The worms seem pretty okay where they land
and the woodlice scuttle same as always.
The ants are freaking out in their overturned pheromonal society, though.
Piteous in the effluvial reek and the aboveground breezes
misdirecting all their trails and scented messages.
“Rargh!” I am a kaiju.
Overall, a victimless Gargantua somewhat sickened
by my own colossus and chaos.