It’s late, you’re tired, you go to bed;
Switch off the light, lay down your head –
And hear the vicious, high-pitched whine
Of some mosquito come to dine
On any bit of you that sticks
Out from the bedclothes, so he picks
A nice soft spot on your left ear.
You lie there thinking “When he’s near
I’ll set for him a little trap –
Wait till he lands and then I’ll slap!
I have to get the timing right;
Too late to flee, too soon to bite.”
A touch, a swing, a mighty thud:
A smear of insect mixed with blood.
You haven’t won. It’s more self-harm;
An ear that’s struck with open palm
Will have not just a surface sting;
The movement also tends to bring
Air with it that the hand compresses
Into a wave that pains and stresses
Your poor old eardrum. Time to get
A helmet or mosquito net.
