Anna Fulford and I recall a horrific poolside cockroach massacre

Tig in May-

A waterbeetle, a hot brick. I thought
you might become heroic if I let my eyes
stay right on it. Saw you welding it to the heart
shaped cement, Sawn you working it with a burnt
foot paddy-padding up the catwalks. Gumshoe feline
with a roach hook, scatter action haymaker.
The option here is laugh or not laugh. Loitering
in and out the window, lanky as a pully whistle
grim as a nut punch moniker. Eyed it, Red-
Brown and not a wholesome critter.
Three inches worth of insect
is a shiver-giver, not funny at all.

Many Thanks,
Anna and Georgia














Dear Mrs. G. & Mrs. A.,

Let me swing you round my half
of this brew ha harm when it was
the medium-sized rasper and only one
could make it keep their shell.
Mine was a magenta flower-print
and I planned to keep it on. That one
clattered in a most standard armor
and not flattering at all. Despite
the hide-your-tummy halter.
T'was ochre and ribbled and too
too organic. Shirting blind
to the must-do's of stewardship,
no help the onlook-two lolly-giggling such
I had to act brash, read: smash.
Records true my low-most appendages
were pidgeons without they have
exoskeletal umbrage. But that ring mail
clean cracked, made peace
with the quartz confetti
and despite one last flaccid try
was already mind-out to the sewers.

Let it be known,
Trigger May