Never a flyswatter when you need one,
Never a folded newspaper at hand,
Never a moment’s rest from flies and gnats,
Never a place to hide when bees attack,
Never a safe cover from mosquitoes.
The air alive with buzzing, clicking, scratching.
The ground alive with crawling, slimy slither,
Leaping, latching, trapping, pinching, chomping
Mandibles. Beneath the dirt, worms and grubs,
Termites and slugs, ants on paths down and up
And into and out of the house baseboards,
When only lethal smelly sprays will do
(Never a can handy when you need one).
And spiders, ubiquitous, everywhere,
Webs spun from thin air, architects of silk
Thread palaces, arching through morning air
With mysterious ease, hung from rafters,
Cowering in corners, cunning flytraps
Hidden in the trees, waiting in the lamps
For moths of the night attracted to light.
© 2004 Thomas A. Ekkens
This poem appears in my chapbook entitled Rings.
Above photo: Moth