Lurker pic

A few weeks ago I posted a poem about a mosquito hanging out on my patio door. Well, today one of his cousins paid me a visit, and I just had to get a shot of him. This exercise took a little bit longer than I anticipated and placed me way behind on my agenda for the day. I'm not complaining--he's a gorgeous little brute--but now I must work on my school stuff....and watch the Olympics (a girl's got her priorities--hello, Michael Phelps, anyone?).

Unwilling Lurker

Unwilling Lurker

He clings, desperate.
This is not how it’s supposed to be.
Summer is waxing;
days are long.
Temperatures should climb,
even at this early hour.
But, he’s cold,
too cold.
He cannot fly,
much less sweep to the arm
held so tantalizingly near.
He’s trapped,
limbs clamped to screen door.

His size, a full inch from head to tail,
cannot assist him here,
nor can ebony wings
marked with white design.
His needle,
dreaded torture device,
instigator of scratching ,
remains useless,
a prisoner against the mesh.

The sun will rise and warm him,
instantaneously bestowing flight,
but not if the woman sipping coffee
notices him lurking and swats,
killing the dratted mosquito.