A mosquito woke me up today.
She would not let me sleep.
I’d been suffering from insomnia
but wasn’t ready to get up yet.
It isn’t fair. I should call time out
and flag down the referee.
But the referee is sleeping
and refuses to answer the phone.
(I wouldn’t want to interrupt him
in his reverie.)
When his wife nudged his shoulder
he simply snored at her, the way he
does all day, even when awake.
Therefore, I have decided to sue.
Concerned members of the mosquito
community should consider how
their actions jeopardize the slumber
of leopards, or darkening bananas
that cannot change their spots
as they continue to rot in the stainless
steel basket that lives atop the oven.
Perhaps they decay faster
from the microwaves that radiate
from the heart of that purring beast
who sleeps like a leopard when you
turn her on, instead of whining
like a mosquito
who won’t shut up until you
flatten it against the wall
with your palm, then wipe it off
with a piece of paper towel:
the meaning of life and death
in a nutshell the size and shape
of your ice cream scoop of a skull.