James B. Nicola: Sting

Mosquitoes light to sit and sup and when they bite it stings and hurts
so I have learned to cover up
with leather slacks and long-sleeved shirts.

But one out of a million, tougher than her sisters, sneaks on in
beneath the collar, past the cuff,
and lands a good one on the skin.

Occasionally, one of these can cause a critical infection
(such as when the malady’s
escaped a doctors' prompt detection)

and result in death—or worse: the inspiration to conjure
through volumes of invective verse
commemorating wounds that were.

So I swathe well this tender hide and shield my head by wearing hats
which keep me warm and let inside
the air while keeping out the gnats.

But every physics guards a part that’s metaphysics—mystery—
connected to the blood and heart,
albeit metaphorically:

For you flew by one fateful day to flit a bit and I was smitten,
unable to flick you away,
nor find the spot where I was bitten.