The Mosquito Bites

The Mosquito Bites 

If you join the dots,

There’s an equilateral triangle mapped out on my chest.

My skin, a canvas to the mosquitoes,

Like the night sky, and they are gods.

 

You made me think

that I had measles or shingles, all for a moment.

Then I found the final

Dot.  The Southern Cross.  On my chin.

Mosquito, a haiku

sunset by the sailing club
sunset dinner by Kep sailing club

I went away on holiday with five friends to the sleepy seaside town of Kep (pronounced Gaip), in Cambodia recently. I forgot to take my journal with me and I felt like I couldn’t do any meaningful reflection without it, as I wouldn’t be able to write it down.

Instead, I chose to write down a few poems that I’ve been mulching on for pretty much a year.  Actually, pretty much the entire time that I’ve been in Cambodia.  They’re all about mosquitoes.  Here’s the first one.

It’s a haiku for no other reason, than that’s how it came out.  I had this image in my mind, of a squadron of mosquitoes flying in formation at night, getting ready to attack.  Mosquitoes don’t hunt in packs; it can sure feel like it when you have multiple bites within 5 minutes.  Why stealth fighters?  The peculiar thing about Cambodian mosquitoes is, is their silence.

You have to imagine the venom in my voice towards the mosquitoes as I’m saying it.

Mosquito

stealthy night fighter,

flying under the radar,

leaving pock-marked skin.

the prepared fish in their 'marquee'
the prepared fish in their ‘marquee’ before the seafood barbeque
a view of Kep from the sailing club
a view of Kep from the sailing club