Voices on the Wind
The Dog Tick
by James F. Gaines
Black and immobile on the turquoise sheet,
Sharp as a specimen,
It squirmed alive in the tweezers’ jaws,
Hard and unengorged,
Not having fed on me.
The repellent I’d spread on the puppy’s shoulders
Had stranded it short of a meal.
Here was a lesson before execution,
Delivering into my hands the infinite pest.
Fate turns a gnawing world to my advantage,
Needful, as open eyes can best bespy
Uncomplicated simple bites
Amid the snarls of stalking days.