Mosquitoes Emerge

July 23 2011

Mosquitoes emerge

a few minutes earlier

each night.

Promptly at dusk

on the cusp of darkness,

when a chill descends

and the cleansing wind

has died.

They are a hive of sound

an angry swarm,

fingernails, on a chalkboard.

So the world seems filled

with predatory insects,

heat-seeking, blood-thirsty bugs.

They play the odds,

overwhelming numbers

insuring

the lucky ones survive.

For most, though

life is a lottery ticket, lost

a miserly slot machine.

Only females bite;

the males are frail, and slight

  —  briefly used

then discarded.

She has navigated precisely

into my ear,

persecuting me

like a buzz-saw gone berserk.

And turned me into a fool,

slapping my head

hard.

Heavy with blood

she lumbers off,

loosing altitude

on a zigzag route

to her final destination.

Primed to reproduce

more annoying mosquitoes.

A vast and empty forest

full of famished bugs

desperate for a meal of blood;

which is highly unlikely

in a brief mosquito life.

Or at least until I appeared  —

the only warm-blooded mammal

for miles.

I wrote recently that I think I needed a break from poetry, since I feared I was just turning out different versions of the same poem. The ending here seems to confirm that:  as you may have noticed, I’ve plagiarized my recent hitch-hiking poem, ending this one with exactly the same line. Trouble is, it works so well here I can’t think of anything else!

On the other hand, I doubt many of my poems – if any at all  – will survive. So I suppose I might as well milk the “good” lines for all they’re worth!