The lights were still on As I lifted myself from The air mattress To check my back For bedbug bites I noticed a young roach In the sink He scattered quickly Then stopped Staring As if to dare me To try and **** him He was the prideful matador And I the swollen eyed Stumbling bull It was life and death I tried to smack him With a water bottle But he ran and hid behind a pipe So I took a bottle of aftershave Tried to drown the ******* In a refreshing burning winterfresh But he was untouched by the splash Then he scattered across the wall I ran and grabbed the worst book In my collection The premier book of major poets, 1970 They printed Simon and Garfunkel In there I tried to smash the cunning cockroach But my fingers touched the Smashed corpse Of a previous conquest I quickly threw the book in disgust And wished it was the roaches Wife or mother Lying dead Smashed by an awful publication He ran quickly Laughing at my frustration Proud Then he settled in a hole Under the edge of the counter He was the victor He raised his sword Toward the sun And stabbed me in the heart I fell onto the air mattress Drooling The young roach returned to his nest Proud He found the fattest female Flipped her over With his filthy fluttering legs He tore open her thorax Then inserted his roach genitalia Into the wound Inseminating her And assuring his legacy While I slept Alone