On the matter of the mosquito.
Under the evening’s afterglow.
I scratched at my itching afro.
When the thought came to me,
in form of a daunting fly.
It pierced my flesh, till I shed a tear.
I slapped myself, each and everywhere.
Dangling before me was the fly
that had made me cry.
‘You’re so minuscule that I have to squint to see you.’
I said very much vexed.
The strangest thing happened.
The fly grew large and large and became
a man with fiery, splotched cheeks
and fairly dark pits for eyes.
I had never seen such sharp fangs.
‘What thirsty points you have going on for you kind sir?’
‘All the more to suck you with Ms Meal.’
‘What a creepy face you have going on for you kind sir?’
‘All the more to astound you Ms Meal.’
‘Whyever will you want to astound me, gracious man?’
‘I am nothing gracious meal lass, a hungry creature full of crass.’
‘I am not Ms Meal, Mr who are you?’
‘I will tell you if only you let me suck your neck.’
I shook my head: ‘What the heck?’
Let me through your door.
I’ll be your charming, sweep you off that floor.
I slammed my netted door.
Looking outside in horror,
waiting for the sun to come.