Mosquito Raid

Mosquitoes rode in
on the open window air.
A shot of disease before bedtime.

Swat after swat,
our peace
would have to be their disaster.

But there was so many.
Sticky mangle
tickled the flesh.
But those were merely
advance guard remnants.

The night was a swarm
a cloud of near-nothingness
that nipped painfully at sleep.

We were offspring of fine people.
We were good kids,
We couldn’t fail.

But our dominance was no match
for a much, much tinier thing.


Mosquito Raid

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Front Range Review, Studio One and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Naugatuck River Review, Abyss and Apex and Midwest Quarterly.
No Response

Comments are closed.