By Frankie J. Meyer
i seen a scouting scoundrel fly by
pre-cursor of bloody bugs a comin’
a city, a county, hell…a world
of sneaky little suckers out there
hatchlings with needs to make you bleed
appetites big as tanker trucks
roaring out of swampy sand
bound for your sweet juicy neck
nectar of common humanoid
yummy rosè burgundy beaujolais
probing, proboscis piercing, plunging
past your pitifully thin epidermis
well into a well of plasma a plenty
gorging, gobbling, guzzling
swilling your essential sap
suckling essence
of delectable hemoglobin
vicious vectors are they
me? well, I donate blood
so madam skeeter may lay her eggs
in a beer can by a weedy scummy ditch
to spawn her little skeeter children
who she hopes will procreate and populate
to be thick by the crick
with their parasitic propensities
to bite and smite their victims
on a picnic for all
as we swat and curse the scourge
and ask, of what good are ye, madam skeeter?
to which she replies,
wiping your blood
from her cute little skeeter lips:
“well”, she says, “we keep the tourists away, thank you for your donation.”