Something is Bugging Me

Listen to me. Iíve had them.
Patient holidaymakers in a caravan,
they hitchhiked in a suitcase
to a two-legged London restaurant.
Then the bites in a line of three
on face, neck, shoulders and arms,
on hands and even between fingers,
all under the influence of my CO2.
A stab of Draculas and one-toothed sidekicks.
                        Donít let them eat me!

The warning of an invasion from Paris
but theyíve been here since 2008
or was it 2010? I forget the year
but not the bites. Lifting the mattress
as they scuttled away to friends and family,
killed with pesticide from a newspaper ad Ė
how I wish Iíd kept that empty bottle.
Two years on, a bed frame steam clean
spewed out the trophies of my victory. 
                        Donít let them eat me!

This year it was time for a new mattress.
I was ready with another steam clean
and a bug monitor installed on the frame.
Do you think they would smuggle them in
just to generate some business?
Then the bites on wrists, ankles and legs.
Must be fleas or gnats or midges
because there are none in a line of three.
Listen to me. None in a line of three.
                        Donít let them eat me all over again!

Susan Wilson

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Susan Wilson   would be pleased to hear them