Savaged by midges during that nap you’re not
supposed to depend upon, the one after lunch
which is predisposed by horrendous yawning -
and if I’ve got it right, alerts th’ rotten beasties
to an impending feast; well better late than be
rushing to catch a bus, there’s now spray & a
couple of insect pads at work - but the urge to
rest-up’s disintegrated into a rash of itchiness
Feet, elbows, ears & back of the hands seem
to be their primary target - aims you’d disdain
normally - until the irrational urge to scratch is
in control of your destiny - so woe’s me again
on a warmish afternoon where perspiration is
th’ modus operandi & its discomfort spreads
© 15 December 2015, I. D. Carswell
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