Fleas

Fleas made a meal of us those weeks
it rained so comfortably; the itches
and a rash ignored appeared as if by
magic. And even yet we were aware
of parasites, indeed, we’d seen each
JRT engaged in scratching with alacrity.

It didn’t gel until a captured flea
ashamed its host announcing it
had fed enough – boasted dogs
had better taste than us and leaped
for freedom into carpet sanctuary.
And now no dog shall pass the door.

We’re shamed we reared that golem’s
curse and know the cause – although
the dogs still think outside is where
the bad dogs live. We dearly love them
as we always will, but sharing fleas is
not the way we’ll show we care...
© 11 March 2008, I. D. Carswell