For my skin - hidden blood
Abandons neighbouring feeding forest
Dumping the nearby, friendly gutter
After a heavy washing flood
Hijacks long sleep and short rest
Forcing us to malevolent curses utter
With all manner of men getting into trouble
Who attack it with strength, a bubble;
Not infrequently phoning their nurses
And for insecticides, unzipping their purses.
Spared not also by The Saints,
Though its killing their images taints;
On it hipping a hurt's abuse,
All the time emptying the refuse.
Simply the handiwork of pin - sharp proboscis
Justifying uttered obscenities or Holy Moses!
In the late nights
A scheduling of sure flights,
With its sleep - verifying song
That does us a great wrong.
Copyright © Chinedum Ekwobi | Year Posted 2020
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