This poem is the first part of my second cannon "Things That Are Really Small, But Make A Difference". It is dedicated to the deer tick at the Folk Festival in Chester County that gave me Lyme Disease last June.
Dear Deer Tick,
Are you Joking Me?
Seriously, Deer Tick, are you kidding?
Who do you think you are, to begin with, anyway?
You hide out in the tall grass,
Waiting for me as I pass, flying a kite, or
Basically skipping in the sunlight of morning.
Just being myself, Deertick.
Just trying to be a pal and get along with everybody
And then you jump on me, and treat my body like
Your personal clubhouse, and you call me your host
Like my body is a party. Is my body a party?
Is it, Deertick? Because I feel wicked awful right now
You raptured my body with a hurricane of flu-like syptoms
This poem is plum awful.
You were a moment
Lyme disease is forever
You locked into my with your never unclenching jaws
With undying fervor. Fervormore, Deertick,
I hate you with my soul.
You alone hit my bullseye rash
And Doxycycline hurts my stomach.