Ode to the Mosquito By Frosty Wooldridge It buzzes about your head and toes. It uses its nose for its delight. It dazzles with deft wings at the coming of night. It dodges slaps and curses. It rushes your skin on which it nurses. It drones on and on, night after night. It enrages cyclists by the pale moonlight. But Gary grabbed his mosquito suit. He shoved the nylon up their snoot. He dared them to share a meal; he cursed them with all his might. As the night drew long, he laughed with delight. No more bothersome bite. Somewhere Mudville mosquitoes cry, somewhere in the deep woods they die. Cyclist Gary Hall stopped their blood banquet high.
Posted on: Tue, 18 Nov 2014 00:10:10 +0000
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