a cricket maddening

twasn’t an absence of belief in

hexes or voodoo s**t, black magic,

witches or warlocks,

which brought to mind the maddening

of the crickets, for

900 species of those sinister gryllidae

couldn’t be wrong &

they came anyway---

chirping their nocturnal nonsense &

forcing the writer to rack her brain,

as all she wanted was to keep the

mental

pedal

to the

metal &

yet, nature allows no rest for the

proverbial wicked---

with said writer being the type

who would stick it out to the last

moment of supposed sanity,

she finally snapped! 

 

not being able to get a word down

because of those damn crickets,

not being able to get a sentence down

because of those goddamned crickets,

not being able to get a paragraph down

(with a deadline at hand) in the middle

of the goddamned morning,

amidst the noise pollution just outside

her window,

all because of those

godfuckingdamned crickets!!!

 

so swiftly,

like the wing’s flap of the most

eloquent great bird which comes to

mind,

she jumped from her seat & went to the

gun cabinet---

there, she kept a bb gun, a fashionable

revolver that once having the CO2 capsule

popped in, looked menacing enough

(she felt) to fend off an intruder,

whilst at the same time, it didn’t really

infringe upon her stance on gun control.

 

with this, she went outside,

bb gun in hand &

started blazing away

without any real notion that what she

commenced

would put any dent in the insanity that these

goddamned crickets

had manifested upon her

&

as the chirping sounds did not &

would not cease,

she dropped to her knees after her

bb gun was empty,

weeping, sobbing &

slobbering tears & spit all over herself,

curled up in a fetal position right out

there in her back yard,

submitting herself to the servitude of

the insects at hand.