By Dianne Moritz

Wasting no time for seduction,
they move, make the hit. ZZT!

They need you like air, blood,
and your skin wells red, blotchy …

fierce itch a constant reminder.
Some men are like mosquitoes.

You’re walking down the street
on a sunny day, eating ice cream:

chocolate almond, sure, your favorite.
A guy whistles, calls out, “Hey,

Babe! Love your ass!” As if you care.
Then you’re standing at the water cooler

and a co-worker steps too close, cops
a feel. Or perhaps you’re relaxing, reading

The Rubaiyat at 3 AM when the phone rings.
Heavy breathing shatters the silence …

Dianne Moritz writes to make sense of life and love.

12 thoughts on “Mosquitoes

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