Get ready, take aim
You always wanted someone to blame
The pest kept buzzing in your ear
It annoyed you, though it had no name
The swollen bite was too severe
An itchy bump, would it every disappear?
It seemed to spread into a rash
No cool salve could soothe your fear
The flattened palm, the thumping smash
You ordered spraying and paid in cash
Cleaned every corner, killed every fly
But swarms returned like birds of ash
You screamed into the blackened sky
No one does this to the Good Guy
You wouldn’t have recognized your own face
Their fault, you said, do you deny?
You killed them good, in your disgrace
No one left, an empty embrace
No more bugs, your epitaph shame
Like old demands for Living Space
by Christy Noel
6/19/03