Moth

There is only one reason to stick around here

But I don’t know what it is, so I’ll have another beer

When I went to put my sweater on I looked at the back

There was a giant hole–I nearly had a heart attack

When I recovered I realized a moth had eaten the hole

All I could think was, “God damn his insect soul”

My mother had knitted the sweater right before she died

Every time I wore it I couldn’t help but cry

I was going to find that moth and squish it into the rug

I didn’t care how slow he died–he was just a stupid bug

I opened my closet to see if he was there

What I saw beyond the door gave me a shivery scare

There was a little bald man with my favorite cashmere sweater in his mouth

I grabbed my gun and yelled “You little bastard. You’re headed south.”

Suddenly I heard a sound like a helicopter coming at me

Moth man was was flapping his wings and trying to flee

He threw my cashmere sweater in the flower pot

I raised my gun and took a shot

I missed the moth, but blew out the window

Through it he flew into the night where the myth of the giant moth will grow

Today, I bought a bagful of wool sweaters at the Salvation Army Store

I am setting sweater-traps to even the score.

I’ve made the sweaters into IEDs.

Just one landing and he’ll become one of life’s permanent retirees