a cricket maddening

twasn’t an absence of belief in
hexes or voodoo shit, black magic,
witches or warlocks,
which brought to mind the maddening
of the crickets, for
900 species of those sinister gryllidae
couldn’t be wrong &
they came anyway---
chirping their nocturnal nonsense &
forcing the writer to rack her brain,
as all she wanted was to keep the
mental
pedal
to the
metal &
yet, nature allows no rest for the
proverbial wicked---
with said writer being the type
who would stick it out to the last
moment of supposed sanity,
she finally snapped!

not being able to get a word down
because of those damn crickets,
not being able to get a sentence down
because of those goddamned crickets,
not being able to get a paragraph down
(with a deadline at hand) in the middle
of the goddamned morning,
amidst the noise pollution just outside
her window,
all because of those
godfuckingdamned crickets!!!

so swiftly,
like the wing’s flap of the most
eloquent great bird which comes to
mind,
she jumped from her seat & went to the
gun cabinet---
there, she kept a bb gun, a fashionable
revolver that once having the CO2 capsule
popped in, looked menacing enough
(she felt) to fend off an intruder,
whilst at the same time, it didn’t really
infringe upon her stance on gun control.

with this, she went outside,
bb gun in hand &
started blazing away
without any real notion that what she
commenced
would put any dent in the insanity that these
goddamned crickets
had manifested upon her
&
as the chirping sounds did not &
would not cease,
she dropped to her knees after her
bb gun was empty,
weeping, sobbing &
slobbering tears & spit all over herself,
curled up in a fetal position right out
there in her back yard,
submitting herself to the servitude of
the insects at hand.