by Tom Ross (August 2004)
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I know that these woods are chock full of mosquitoes,
that sort of thing happens most anywhere.
Mosquitoes have got to survive, like we all do,
according to Darwin, it's only fair.
I know you mosquitoes have got to be stealthy,
you need to be taking me unaware,
but listen, mosquitoes, there's one point I'm missing
I don't understand why you'd bite me there!
There's much nicer parts of me, easy to get to, my neck and my elbows and knees are bare, I've much better places for insect embraces, I cannot believe you would bite me there!
The back of my neck is so warm and inviting, and shelter's available in my hair, from riding my bike to Camp 2 every morning my calf-muscles now are beyond compare. With all of these targets to choose from, you'd think that a sensible insect would claim his share, but all that you stupid mosquitoes can say is "That's nice, but we'd much rather bite you there!".
Of all the locations that you chould have chosen, I wouldn't have picked that one on a dare, I have to confess that it's when I undress I exclaim "Why the hell would they bite me there?".
I guess even blood-sucking bugs love a challenge,
you'll climb any mountain because it's there,
you look at my clothes and you see Himalayas,
you're burning to conquer my underwear.
But once you're inside, you should re-think the problem,
it might be much nicer out in the air.
This hardly can be the Nirvana you're seeking;
you thought so beforehand, but au contraire!
The ambience isn't so pleasant inside and I've nothing to offer to you in there. And why you don't leave I can scarcely conceive, I can't fucking believe you would bite me there!
So listen to me all you goddam mosquitoes: that part of me isn't a warm eclair! You can't seem to tell I don't know you that well and you don't have permission to bite me there!
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Lark Camp, PO Box 1176, Mendocino, CA 95460 USA (707) 964-4826