Crickets – The Poem

Crickets in the closet, crickets in the sink,
Crickets in the strangest places one would ever think,
Crickets in the ceiling, crickets in the walls,
Crickets in the bedrooms and they’re creeping down the halls.


Crickets in the entryway, (I’m sure they’re in my brain),
Crickets, crickets everywhere, they’re driving me insane!
I see them crawling up and down and left and right you see,
I see them on the floor and roof and even in my dreams.


I carry shoes as weapons wielded high above my head,
My children cry out “CRICKET” and I run to whack them dead.
I have not yet discovered how they’re coming in my house –
The flies fly through the windows and I’ve never seen a mouse.

I know I’m in a trailer and the wind blows through my walls,
But a cricket’s awful big and the wind is awful small.
Creeking-creeking cricket sounds keep me awake at night;
They scurry-scurry everywhere when I turn on the lights.


The cockroach and the cricket must be cousins down the line,
I’m sure they’ve traded secrets once or twice some other time.
Crickets – now a swear to us – please go away today.
I’d be content if all you crickets stayed away ‘til May.

At least the crickets haven’t lasted longer than the fall;
I wish they were all dead right now – kill them, kill them all!
Death to all you cricket-ses, you spineless, mindless pests!
O who will come to Caronport to clean this cricket mess?


Black, encrusted body parts with gooey, pus-filled guts,
I’ll smash you all to bits, I say, or frankly I’ll go nuts!
My wrath shall swiftly visit you, my shoe death will determine;
This, a most poetic end to vile, disgusting vermin.

- Mark