To a Bed-Bug, by Sam Mbure

I wonder how long, you awful parasite,
Shall share with me this little bed,
And make me, from my sweet dreams be lost,
By sucking blood from my poor head.

I should but say man has much
Blood, which you and your families do feed
On; for supper, dinner, and lunch,
And besides, you do in my bed breed.

Clever thou art, tiny creature;
You attend me when I am deep asleep;
When thou art sure, I can’t you capture,
Just at the time I snore deep.

‘Tis so strange that before twilight,
The bed clear of you would seem;
For not one of you is in my sight;
As if your presence was in a dream

Sam Mbure is an active Kenyan writer; learn more about him here

Some months ago I posted my own poem about a cockroach I met in Sierra Leone.  If you read it and compare, it will be clear that Sam is a professional poet and I am an economist.  I am grateful to never have – to my knowledge – encountered Sam’s awful parasite.  Something to look forward to yet in life.  I read his poem in Wole Soyinka’s Poems of Black Africa.

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