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Mosquito
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Baba Brinkman
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Once upon a noontime dreary, while I rested, weak and weary,
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Half the day was done and hunger pains had won me o'er.
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In a truck I sat while eating, with my stomach still entreating
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Me to eat my fill, depleting all the food I had in store.
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"I'd best save something yet," I thought, "and not eat all I have in store,
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For later I may hunger more."
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Ah, distinctly I remember, "˜twas six months since last December,
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And now summer's radiant ember left few shadows to explore.
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Vainly I had sought to borrow from hard work surcease of sorrow,
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Knowing well that no tomorrow resurrects the day before.
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Nor can any year to come return to me the year before,
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A memory now, forevermore.
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Then this silken, sad, uncertain sound closed round me like a curtain;
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It thrilled me, filled me with an angst I'd felt a thousand times before,
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So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I sat repeating,
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""˜Tis some insect bent on eating of my blood and nothing more,
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Some small starving insect, merely one of countless thousands more."
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And at that, I shut the door.
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Presently, my soul grew stronger; fearing the insect then no longer,
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"Mosquito," said I, "or black fly, truly your forgiveness I implore,
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But the fact is I was eating, and was startled by your greeting,
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And no doubt sent you retreating from the slamming of my door.
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Enter now though, you are welcome." Here I opened wide the door;
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Silence there, and nothing more.
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Far into that silence listening, fearing, perspiration glistening,
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Doubting, awakening to anxieties I had never felt before.
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But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
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And my thoughts, though still unspoken, hastened to the year before,
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It was a year of pure enjoyment all too fleeting to endure
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Unrivalled yet, and evermore
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Thus I then returned to eating, as my unease was fast and fleeting,
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I turned my intent unto an apple and soon ate it to the core.
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Then to dispose that core I threw it, caring little what or who it
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Struck upon its course, though to it glancing, up and out the door;
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And there hovered a Mosquito just outside the crew-cab door,
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Hovered there, and nothing more.
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Startled then and struck by panic, I reached out and with a manic
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Motion, closed my hand around the handle and drew shut the open door,
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But my effort was not heeded, for the insect, unimpeded,
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Flew into the truck and speeded to the handle of the door,
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And there it perched upon the handle of my foreman's crew-cab door,
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Perched and sat, and nothing more.
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This Mosquito then was steering my sad fancy into sneering
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By its nature and intent and by the countenance it wore.
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So I said, "Though you've gained entry, surely I'm no royal sentry,
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Admitting only insect gentry through this stately crew-cab door.
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Tell me what thy lordly name is, that thou dare disturb my door."
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Quoth the Mosquito, "Nevermore."
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Much I marveled this ungainly bug to hear discourse so plainly,
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Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore.
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For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
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Ever yet was blessed with seeing on the handle of a door,
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Bug or beast upon the handle of his foreman's crew-cab door,
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With such a name as "Nevermore."
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But the Mosquito, sitting lonely on that handle, uttered only
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That one word, as if its soul in that one word did it outpour.
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Nothing further then it uttered, not a wing it flicked or fluttered,
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"˜Til I scarcely more than muttered, "Other times have flown before,
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In a moment it will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
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Then the bug said, "Nevermore."
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Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
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"Doubtless," said I, "What it utters is its only stock and store,
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Found through some freakish mutation, or perhaps hallucination
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Or my mad imagination conjured up that "˜Nevermore.'"
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My reason dared me to discover how I heard that "˜Nevermore.'
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My sanity this burden bore.
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But no answer still was given, and as I was fixed and driven,
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I puzzled further at the nature of this insect on my door.
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Farther then from reason sinking, I betook myself to linking
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Fancy into fancy, thinking what this insect on my door,
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What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous insect on my door
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Meant in saying, "Nevermore."
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This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
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To that bug whose beady eyes now burned into my bosom's core.
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This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
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On the head-rest's plastic lining, and as they had moments before,
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My fancied thoughts soon wandered back to that elated year before,
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Which would return, ah, nevermore!
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Then, methought, the air grew denser, as my excited nerves grew tenser,
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As in my mind I cultured malice for that insect on my door.
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"Wretch!" I spat, "What God has made thee? What silver coin the devil paid thee?
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Get thee from my sight and fade thee, like my memories of before!
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Take with thee this crippled quandary and forget the year before!"
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Quoth the Mosquito, "Nevermore."
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"Prophet!" said I, "Thing of evil! Prophet still, if bug or devil!
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Whether tempter sent or whether coughed up from this clear-cut's core,
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Desolate yet all undaunted, in this forest-land enchanted,
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In this truck by horror haunted, tell me truly I implore,
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Will that year ever return? Tell me, tell me, I implore!"
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Quoth the Mosquito, "Nevermore."
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"Prophet!" said I, "Thing of evil! Prophet still, if bug or devil!
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By this nature all around us, the only god we both adore,
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Tell this soul replete with sorrow if upon another morrow
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I will be able to borrow bliss from memories of before,
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Memories of that rare and radiant, lovely, lost, and thus lamented year before.
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Quoth the Mosquito, "Nevermore."
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"Be that word our sign of parting, bug or fiend!" I shrieked upstarting;
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"Get thee back into the wreckage of this tortured clear-cut's core!
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Leave no red welt as a token of the lie thy soul has spoken,
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Leave my loneliness unbroken! Quit the handle of my door!
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Take thy proboscis from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
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Quoth the Mosquito, "Nevermore."
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And the Mosquito, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
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On the lustrous chrome handle of my foreman's crew-cab door,
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And its eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
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And the sunlight o'er it streaming throws its shadow on the floor.
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And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor,
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Shall be lifted "“ nevermore.
Queens Of The Stone Age The Mosquito Son...
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