By Heather Wyatt
Photo: Denise ~*~
I stare upward
after you make
a surprisingly loud
thud in my light fixture.
You and your kind
have invaded my house.
Swarms of thousands,
red, with black dots,
a design to imply innocence
but you fly at my mouth
and eyes.
So, I see you, wandering
along in the burning fixture
heading close to the bulb
and I watch wishing
I had popcorn.
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