Lancing a boil in the heat of the desert air
I was astounded by not getting anywhere.
What is my luck in this garden of insect bites?
All I can hear is a chorus of parasites
Howling a song about humans for dinnertime,
Breakfast and (fecklessly, recklessly, in the slime)
All other meals that an insect would chew upon.
One more day here would be crossing the Rubicon.
I have had plenty enough of too much of this.
One more damned bug and I'll blast 'em for emphasis.
Raise a fly swatter and bring out the chemical