Dave Bonta looks at a scarab beetle pushing a ball of dung and turns the sight into something odd, funny, and a little unsettling. The beetle is described in startling terms: hard, round, shiny "as a sex toy," with a "studded collar" that bites into the dirt. Its delicate wings are tucked out of sight, so what we see is only the stubborn, earthbound labor. Then comes the grand phrase "six-legged god," which sits oddly beside the image of a creature walking backwards, rolling "his little world of shit."
The speaker seems both amused and fascinated. There's a joke in the crude comparisons, but also real admiration for the beetle's single-minded effort. Calling the dung a "world" makes the task feel huge and tiny at once. The one-word last line, "Submit," lands like a command, and it's hard to say who it's aimed at: the beetle, the reader, or life's dirty routines. The mood is wry, earthy, and quietly philosophical.