I have come to respect the impressive ability the cockroach has to follow me wherever I go. No, I am not kidding. Cockroaches have lived in every house I have lived in. I guess I should be flattered that they appreciate my taste. It is, I hasten to say, an adversarial relationship we’ve always had. They attempt to overrun every room in the house while I stand by with a can of Raid to fire at will. I usually win–the battle, not the war.
It’s not a likable subject to approach,
This war between me and the roach.
It’s simply horrible and more than I can bear
When I find him roaming my drawer of silverware.
If that’s not enough to quell any attempt to be congenial,
Imagine how I feel when I discover he’s been in my cereal.
He’s too fast to catch by hand, too squirmy to squash by foot.
I might get off a lucky shot of bug spay if he’d just stay put.
Then he’ll scurry about for a place to hide for a few minutes more,
And the next day I’ll find him upside down on the kitchen floor.
Oh the humanity! Oh the cockroachery! this battle will forever cry
I may vanquish some, but the mighty cockroach will never die.