Lenora

At age seven, my sister Lenora
Developed an obsession with ants.
If you accidentally stepped on one
She would scold you for a week.
When my parents bought me an
Ant Farm one joyous Christmas,
As soon as I received the ants
Through the postal service,
I remember the stormy day,
Lenora went maniacally psycho
And smashed the farm to bits,
And set all the bewildered ants free
When a teenager, her obsession worsened;
She vowed to set all the ants free
At what she called the ant gulag,
The ant farm factory in Pittsburg, PA.
I worried she’d become a loopy
My suspicions confirmed when
She broke into the factory,
Somehow set numberless ants free
And tried to burn the factory down.
Now she’s spent fifty years
In a psychiatric hospital composing
Crazy paeans to ants while I write
Weird poems about stink bugs
Obsessively and dream about
Inventing a Stink Bug Farm
And selling it to the world.

Bob Boyd

Stink Bug on My Computer

A stink bug just flew on my computer screen.
Though they’re grotesque looking, I like them.
But I must admit the first time I saw one
It looked so bizarre it startled me,
Wondering if it was harmful and would sting or bite.
Rarely had I seen a weirder looking bug.
It had kind of a threatening don’t touch me look.
We don’t have them where I’m originally from
Just outside of Boston, MA in the suburbs.
Despite not knowing if it was harmful,
I couldn’t kill it, just coaxed it onto a tissue
And walked it outside my apartment
Into the freedom of a warm summer’s night.
After I learned stink bugs were harmless,
I grew to like them, as I like the one
That just soared off my computer, tiny wings flapping,
Airborne for a few seconds in lamp lit skies,
And landing on a runway somewhere behind me.
In a little while he might land on me.
Maybe he’ll sit on my shoulder like a best pal
And watch YouTube videos with me.
And tell me how he can’t meet any stink bug women online,
I’ll say I feel your pain, been there with human women.
Maybe after he pours out his love life miseries,
And cries for a while on my shoulder,
He’ll give me some ideas for this poem, like a muse.
Maybe I’ll adopt him as an exotic pet.
I wouldn’t tether him to a restraining leash
Or stick him in a four-sided, oppressive aquarium,
Or imprison him in a soul crushing miniature cage,
That is if stink bugs have souls.
Or dress him up like dogs with sissy sweaters.
But mercy me I don’t know what I’d feed him,
And I doubt I’d find stink bug food at Petsmart.
I could probably find him some food on Amazon,
Hopefully with a five gold stars rating
And next day shipping between 4 and 8am.
I hate that it has such an undignified name.
I would have named it unique looking cool bug.
And by the way, stink bugs only stink if you crush them,
as if dead they get the final say.

Bob Boyd

Ode To A Stink Bug

He sneaks into my apartment somehow
He’s a weird-looking critter I must say
And he’s sitting here looking at me now
I could end his life in a flash, but hey
He’s just sitting there not causing trouble
Were he a mosquito, I’d be bitten
And that bug would be dead on the double 
Unlike the stink bug with whom I’m smitten
Because of his odd look and gentle ways
I’m sure he’s not gentle with smaller prey
But it is not his fault in nature’s maze
We all eat smaller things; it’s nature’s way.
Poor stink bug saddled with a name that stinks
When named, if only he could have said nay
And gotten a cooler name like The Spinx.

Bob Boyd

error: Content is protected !!