Tell me what is the point of putting these
Bloodsuckers on Earth. For one sole purpose
— Diversify our vocabulary
Of touch, to learn the satisfaction of
Reducing the itch to a bloody pulp,
Decimating our skin, losing our minds
To the madness of clawing at ourselves.
They can’t just drink their fill and leave in peace.
Why must they buzz about our swollen lobes
In tease like a bad drunk wrecking the bar
Overstaying their welcome.
Why must I slap on little red poppies
Like bandaids in their wake when the blood is
Mine to spill? The worst — those that lay in wait
Watching for the moment, a few hours,
A day, a week later, for an ambush
To press themselves onto my attention.
I think of the impatient swishing tails
Of cows or horses, warding off the flies,
And wonder how they soothed the endless bites.
Their earth bound feet, their greatest willpower.
Give them to me, for I have no patience
For the torture we don’t need to suffer.
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