invitation to dinner

At this point,
I was watching the inchworm,
Who had started pooping
A little current of inch poop
Across my cell phone’s screen,
So I couldn’t call you back
To tell you
About the red Geraniums
And ask you to marry me.

At this point,
She was watching the inchworm,
Who had started pooping
A muddy trail of inch poop
Across her iPad’s pad,
So she couldn’t text him back
To acknowledge the red Chrysanthemum
Or accept
His invitation to dinner

At this point,
The inchworms decided:
You know what?
We’re just having a ball
Just pooping on this stuff;
Let’s just get married,
Which they were:
Delicate, expensive affair
Among the red Columbines.