Chasing Cockroaches

Waiting for the cockroaches,
Fly, fly, fly, they perch ready to fly.
In fives and tens they pour into the house,
Wing raised, abdomen extended,
Brazen copulation! in my presence?

Chasing the ‘roaches,
I made a special broom.
Perch, run, still..,
I attacked,
Have dead, they fall, but
Not without staining the wall,
It is not their fault for the neighbourhood
Is filled with muck,
Filthy children running the hood naked,
Defecate at wish
And the result, roaches and sickness,

Waiting for the cockroaches,
I spread insect powder at nook and cranny of the room,
My mat spread at a corner and lantern light lowered,
I await action.

Fly, fly, fly, they cannot fly.
Aha! My insect powder got them,
They crawl and roll in a noisy attempt to find
A cover, inviting my attention,

A finishing strike, they lay still one after the other, dispatching
Them to unknown world of dead roaches.

In the morning, everywhere is arid with the odour of dead
Cockroaches, and ants and flies.
For when one finger fell into a pot of oil,
It affects other fingers.

. ©2001

by akachukwu chukwuemeka ( akabeks)

Other poems of CHUKWUEMEKA ( AKABEKS) (89)

Comments (1)

Filthy children running the hood naked, Defecate at wish And the result, roaches and sickness, For when one finger fell into a pot of oil, It affects other fingers. Rachel Ann Butler