Sleep Tight
Why blame the skin -
it does not have legs
so it cannot crawl
or slither when the midnight
hour calls the bug to slide
out of its baseboard.
Darkness is her silent
dinner bell. Each night
it beckons more uninvited
guests to dine amidst four
hundred count linen. Polishing
off in silver service, feasting
on the unsuspecting, hosting
on the host. They tuck into
our body banquet, sipping ichor,
gorging well past a gentile sufficiency.
Suck it up - we all can agree -
reduces us to a meal ticket
with welts and resulting hives:
not the sweet home
of productive bees, merely the itch
of secreted secretions traded
for a sustenance that we hope
to squash before each
beastie creeps away.
