Never Say Die

Watching a movie ('Walking Tall') I spied a cockroach on my wall, crawling in and out of sight, the proud homeowner's sorry plight. Now I see him, now I don't, a creepy feeling, and I won't feel better till he's dead and gone, considering it a job well done. The kitchen was my battleground, I chased the bugger round and round, ('persistent' was the name I christened my thick-skinned antagonist,) for dodging footfalls he'd survived the era of the dinosaurs, avoiding conflict he'd outlived the perils of unnumbered wars. Tired and soaked with perspiration, craving his elimination, I, with magazine extended dealt a blow, his life was ended. Or was it? Wriggling in his death throes, wiggling several sets of black toes, on his back he scarce could right himself to carry on the fight. Yet more he fiddled, then was still, an adversary with a will, he lay quiescent on the rug, that bold defiant little bug. I left him shaken, (his demise beyond salvation?), then my eyes beheld no insect, just a stain, for he'd crept off to creep again!