Tuesday, June 04, 2002

It must have leg-spread three inches diameter.
The mosquito and I met eyes in the now-empty vessel once-room of my childhood.
Well, really I have no idea.
I perceived nothing resembling eyes on the mosquito.
If they were there, I could tell little whether they chose to meet my own or not.
But I gazed down the mosquito, and I fancied myself the mosquitos eyes back up at me.
Between these two sets of eyes I bounced as an internal debate sprung.
It pauses, poised there in peaceful meditation,
So well suited for the empty vessel that might as well be its own house of meditation
But it may be counting on my blood to feed on
Bearing into me what foreign intruders while taking its share
But what of it? Foreign intruders really! Malaria in Maryland! Dengue Fever perhaps!
Ridiculous, Ari.
What is a little blood and an itch to me?
What is its own life and Earthly existence to this goliath mosquito?
Enough. Swarms of its brothers wait, no doubt, and would just as readilytake their share as well.
I must put an end to this.
Can I bear the evolutionary significance of my act, a selective force favoring the survival of mosquitos
Surely faster and more furious than my hand?
But there are swarms and swarms of mosquitos
and swarms and swarms of humans
inhabiting the Earth and this one battle can have little but symbolic significance.
I swat and murder. Why? I haven't the foggiest.
Tomorrow I will encounter his brother
And perhaps I shall offer him the juciest of my artery.