It's Just a Cultural Difference, Really

It looks at me
Across the table,
This insect
Sat in a chair.
It chitters
In its own perplexing way
With no concern
For my appetite
Or the dinner that is growing cold.
It's antennae move, from side to side
Causing me to consider
Asking it to wash my windshield,
As I lift my spoon
To brave eating once more.
It chitters
I lay down my spoon, lean forward and listen
Carefully
Silence
I take up my spoon once more
It chitters
I stare intently
Silence
I lift the spoon to my mouth
Its limbs flail
It chitters
I drop my spoon
And stare down, horror filled, into the bowl
Where it has laid its eggs
It chitters
I look up
It's laughing at me.