insecticides sprayed
crushed, smashed, thrashed, hard boot-heel-stamped ~
still they resurrect
Between Campfires and cockroaches
there has been no interaction
Though that is about to change
in a novel reaction
Rebelling against ‘unhealthy marshmallows’
campers worldwide will be ‘roasting roaches’ *
~ starting tomallow
*An 'excellent source of protein.' ~ USDA
Expectant parents line baby’s nursery with a giant foul garbage bin.
Others come to celebrate – lugging grime and mold, a huge baby win.
Boy or girl, it matters not, even during a nuclear war, cockroaches survive.
The excited expectant grandparents give each other a clicking high-five.
She gave me the evil eye
She bared her teeth and gnashed them at me
I tried to ignore her
Did the best I could
But she was outstandingly arrogant
in her pursuit of bullying me
I was her last conquest.
It was just her and I now.
The explosion had taken the humans,
and most of the livestock.
We were the last two cockroaches
on this desolate planet.
She sneered at me with a Cheshire cat grin.
I had seen that look on her face only once before,
when she let me know everyone else was gone.
It was just us.
I knew she had news.
Bad news.
I crept under a can and hid
until she left.
Preferring to be alone
for the rest of my days.
The cockroaches come out at night.
They come out of the sewers and run about on the sidewalks above like little machines with antennas.
Many humans hate them. Especially human women.
Some humans eat them.
They are colored the brown of stagnant streams.
One gets the feeling they are very patiently waiting their turn.
Cockroaches come out at night.
Sometimes they crawl over my bare feet as I look for food in the dark kitchen.
My neighbors are such slobs.
They deserve to die,
or at least come over and get the roaches.
We can always talk over beer.
Cockroaches come out in the dark and discuss the future together with their antennas.
They are disgusted with the humans that have taken over their homes.
They are content, though.
Hiding in holes,
covered in ****,
they plan our demise,
and await the last laugh.
Oh the goddam cockroaches!
Like living aliens from 50’s movies:
and in my house!
Where do they live, these errant knights?
In search of food, and greasy squires, as
they scurry across the kitchen’s night.
One’s without a leg, a skirmish with a skink?
And two just stare at each other; lovers, or
two males looking for a fight?
It’s hard to tell which is which and what is
what, amid the morning heat; but I live in
hope, that they’ll migrate, one day across
the field; to the rich man’s house, that looks
so neat, and share upon his wealth.
As if living with cockroaches wasn't bad enough,
now my home has been infested with bed bugs.
I guess it's time once again to fumigate my home
or these uninvited guests won't leave me alone.
I do so hate killing even the lowest forms of life.
Why can't they just leave on their own
and relieve me from this strife?
Two cockroaches were talking as they munched garbage in an alley.
"I was just at that new restaurant across the street.
The kitchen is spotless. The floor shines a bright gleam.
There isn't any dirt anywhere. It's completely sanitary."
"Please," said the other roach frowning, "not while I'm eating."
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