There are mosquitoes in Monaghan the size of bats
but easier to kill
and leave a telltale splat that spoils the bed.
But where there’s one, there’s more;
their whines as heavy as the dentist’s drill.
They can suck the lifeblood out of a woman
in eight point two seconds flat.
At night, they crouch on my pillow
and chase me through my dreams,
droning potent criticism—
’All those words,
they don’t add up to much, do they?
We’ve read your book and it’s rubbish—
no bite, nothing special.
Why do you bother?
Give it up, give it up.’