John Grey

Posted: January 24, 2017 in Musing, Poetry
Tags:

 

PEST CONTROL

A flea kicks me down the stairs.

A fly keeps me guessing.

A gnat figures that a full grown man

is a suitable opponent in a battle to see

who can bite the other first.

A mosquito is not one to ever

fall in love with me.

It’s always hate at first sight.

And then there’s that fly,

buzzing here, there.

treachery with wings.

A bed bug steals my sleep.

A tick ticks me off.

The fly finds a crumb

then it calls me a crumb

under its fly-blown breath.

Ants are on the march.

They wish to enslave me.

It’s a contest as to whether

they or the termites

will get to me first.

The moth imagines itself

a tiger moth airplane.

It threatens to drop the big one.

The fly points out

exactly where to hit.

But. while its attention

is elsewhere.

I grab the swatter.

slap it into insect hell.

Thus, the fight back begins.

Meanwhile, Martha irritates me.

Jenny only calls

when I don’t want to hear from her.

Chrissy two-times.

Holly has no time at all.

But please be patient, I tell them.

The invertebrates saw me first.

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