Poetry Week, Day 2

Hello, I know we’ve barely met,
But you’re the only one to get
Right now to handle this invader;
Please be my exterminator!
What we have is quite a beast,
A middle finger’s length at least
And still propelled by noisy wings!
Who knew that roaches had such things?
Don’t tell me they don’t sting or bite!
I’m still not sleeping here tonight
Unless we find that retch and smash it;
Otherwise I’m gonna crash at
Someone else’s house that’s safe!
I sound like some pathetic waif,
But that’s the way it’s bound to be,
So please come join the search with me.
Oh, there it is! Now why d’you wait?
Don’t tell me you’re too scared; oh great.
You’re not? You’re planning your attack?
OK, just keep it far from—ack!
It’s on the move! Don’t let it go!
You got it? Don’t stop now! Oh no,
I heard the crunch; it sounded gross.
At least I never got too close.
Now please just flush it down the john;
Make absolutely sure it’s gone.
At last I’m slowing down my pulse.
I’ve lost the urge to go convulse.
You make a fine exterminator.
I’ll make brownies for you later.

(This poem corresponds to an incident I reported a couple years ago, in which I was the exterminator.)