3:00 a.m.

3:00 a.m.

It’s not every night but often I’m awakened,
bolt up, back straight, and swat aside the sheets,
pop one eye open in a rankled mood, again.
The ruckus in the basement is like fingernails

against blackboard where previous investigations
revealed a family of slackers, uninvited crickets,  
thriving unrepentant! I’m hosting a happy & frolicking
clan of Orthoptera rubbing the planet’s tiniest  

legs together; an inconsiderate rabble,
squeaking, chirping, dating, mating
under my thin floorboards. They are out of control!
Their frivolous passions can only bring

more crying babies, a million offspring!
Stop multiplying, you terrible tenants!
You lousy racketing insiders.
Unruly kin to neurotic cousins
the long-legged knob-headed spiders.

Enough! You’ve unlocked a nightmare!
Go away you bastards down there!
They make me leave my bed to descend the stairs
Gripping firmly, rolled tightly, yesterday’s newspaper  
and smash every one of them, wearing only my underwear.