You had every intention
of pissing in my pots,
puking in my pans or on my breakfast,
stamping your six infested legs
around my plate or in my cup.
So I was glad when you
buzzed into your nemesis
of vibrating consequences.
I watched the toxic tailors’s silken waltz,
took sick glee in your helpless twitchings,
as he made your suit of finest thread
far too tight a fit.
Hear this poem