By Shem Onderi
Mosquito,
make public your blood group…
So we can call for a national blood donation drive.
We’ll gather as much blood as we can,
focus on a single type,
so we can supply it.
Tell us—
via email, text—let it go viral,
so humanity can donate generously,
pump it into a blood bank.
Then you call your kin.
Let them line up for swallowing,
drink their fill.
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Maybe we even install a tap in the blood bank—
you tap a few grams,
to your fill,
for a season, a day, or just hours,
so you stop attacking humans,
at random.
Tell us your preference—
warm or frozen—
so we can serve it right.
Leech, you have killed.
Humanity has suffered—
so many lives lost
to your sharp sting.
You leave behind
the tragedy of malaria.
Your buzz—
troubling to the ear.
Even the dead-asleep awaken
at your presence.
Such a sharp sound
from a tiny, emaciated fly.
So unfit to produce such terror.
You reproduce fast,
thrive in filth,
your breeding zones—dark.
We want you extinct.
Or maybe not—
not now.
Maybe we can deal with you
through spraying.
Why are you so skinny?
So tiny?
An irony of your destruction.
The blood you suck
should make you fat.
But it doesn’t—
your efforts seem meaningless.
Why strike at night?
Do you prefer darkness?
Dark power?
Then you must be evil.
How do you live?
How would you want to be remembered?
Your offspring—
replicas of you.
If only you knew
how deeply you disturb the night.
Bloodsucker—
be warned:
Humans are designing weapons
to silence you,
to ruin your life,
destroy your kin,
erase your legacy.
No generation shall carry your name.
Trim your appetite for human blood.
Diversify—
try flower sap,
try leaves.
Other weak flies
await your hunger.
Try them!
