I picked a tick off poor, wet Levi,

Yanked it out with tufts of his hair.

Squeezed the thing so hard with my fingers

til it popped and blood sprayed everywhere.

I saw a tick crawling on the ground,

From Jake’s awful infestation.

I grabbed the hammer I had lying ‘round,

Pounded it to bloody obliteration.

But poor Bubba is his own bloodsucker,

Scratching and biting at his own skin.

A miserably itchy, raw condition,

Manifesting without

from his misery within.

No amount of bathing nor of brushing,

No amount of costly elixir

Will take away his pain and suffering,

There exists for him no quick fixer.

I’m fearing, hoping not, that Karma is cruel

And biting Bubba instead of me—

If it is so, I’m such a fool

For murdering ticks thinking I’d be free.



10 responses to “Bloodsucker

  1. Cool (and kinda gross)! ;o)

  2. Hey Aunt Omi, Great Poetry!:) I am impressed!:)

    Your Nephew,

    Daniel Lutsch

  3. Fantastic! I want to read more…make it a short story 🙂

  4. LOVE IT! Such a talented writer. Reading this, I don’t associate with my mother writing a cute little poem, I am more into the story and the creativity of the author, who just by chance happens to be my mom 😉 Definitley 4 stars!!

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