Botheration

Steamy summer’s day,
insects are on the prowl
competing with my swats
for the available air.

It should be gratifying
that at least something
is in love with my skin,
but it’s not.

I want nothing more than
to just sprawl on the grass
but the gnats, the bugs,
see that as an insult
to their omnipresence.
They’re as persistently annoying
as some people I could name.

Of course, with beasties,
my responses are cruder,
more basic than my typical,
“I’d love to but I’m busy.”

And I have the stings, the bumps,
squashed wings and smeared insides,
to bear witness.

People, on the other hand,
just go away until the next time.
Ah, the next time:
now there’s a blood-sucking,
irritating, infuriating,
insect for you.