A Cold Wind
A mosquito, there, along the windscreen, down the freeway at 70mph – is it inside the car?
The mosquito bobs up and down and I lose it against the black dash then I find it.
I reach my right hand up and sort of rap the mosquito against the windscreen with the back of my fingers.
It’s dead, beyond dead. There’s no mosquito left.
I just obliterated this tiny life to avoid the minor discomfort of a bite.
It’s not hardly fair.
But here I am, down the freeway, at 70mph.
sometimes in the cold wind
the door knocks
© Steve Mitchell 2013