My clock said it was 2 a.m.; I should have been asleep
But I was wakened by a sound that caused my flesh to creep.
I heard the sound of scurrying from somewhere over there
Down underneath my desk, perhaps, or underneath my chair.
I thought, if I ignored the sound, that it would go away,
But then I heard the sound again and rose to join the fray.
I flipped the switch beside my bed that banished nightly gloom
And got my trusty swatter out, and searched around the room.
Then suddenly, an oblong shape ran off across the floor;
I moved to interpose myself between it and the door.
It fled from me beneath my desk and sped along the wall
Where obstacles now blocked its path, and slowed it to a crawl.
So I removed my briefcase and an old computer, too,
From underneath my desk, and now I had a better view.
I had it in my sights and now my swatter I employed,
Yet could not crush my enemy; it merely seemed annoyed,
But flung my foe instead into the open with a toss
And here I could administer the final coup de grace.
But even while I told myself that it at last was dead
Another one now caught my eye, that raced across my bed!
I did not let this one escape, but swung with all my might
And nailed it with a single blow, to my supreme delight.
I dumped them both into the trash, and then turned out the light.
And once again I heard the sound that made me jump with fright.
How many more patrolled the dark, how many would I need
To chase around the bedroom, and to crush with lightning speed?
The light did not reveal the source of that annoying sound;
I saw no other oblong shapes that raced across the ground.
The sound I soon located when I got up out of bed:
I found it coming from the trash—it seems they weren’t quite dead.
If I allowed this to go on, I’d never get to sleep
And so I soon concluded there was just one way to keep
This racket from resuming, the one thing I had not tried:
I put my pants and shoes back on, and took the trash outside.
I left it in the compacter, to meet an ugly fate
And once again returned to bed; the hour was now quite late.
No further interruptions would disturb my weary sleep
For I was quite exhausted, and I soon was counting sheep.
It isn’t very often that I have unwelcome guests
For once a month, they spray this place to kill all kinds of pests,
And usually, if I see one, it’s lying on the floor,
Its legs protruding in the air, where it will crawl no more.
But for those times that one slips past the chemical defense
I have in place a backup plan that I can soon commence.
My swatter hangs upon a nail protruding from a shelf;
If they can’t spray the bugs away, I’ll kill them all myself!