Mosquito Poem by Tan Pratonix

When I dissect you beneath my finger,
Pale grey mosquito, I feel you wriggle
And play dead, thinking I'll let you go; but
You are caught; and not till I remove those
Crumpled wings, those spindly legs, that ugly
Offending pinprick of a head, will I
Leave off - not till your needle is broken.

You may have kept yourself in trim - alert,
Agile, and all that; danced on my skin and
Played a hundred different tunes in my ear;
You may have swirled in delight about my
Sleepless tormented face, and tantalised
Every inch of my being - but it's all over,
My matador. Zigzagging through a broad
Beam of light, I swung you with all the force
Of my left hand, and as you curved to escape
I brought you down with my right.

..........................................................Your body,
Filled with blood [my blood] waits to be opened;
But do you think the bull, the poor clumsy
Bull, is so crude as to squash you into
A bloody mess? No, with your own sword, I
Shall kill you, and watch your blood [my blood] drain
Away. There is no sympathy, no anger;
The world is not large enough for both of us.