They came by stealth

Any tine of the day, till full dark

But never head high

Always low, near the ground.

A sharp prick

responding with a slap, never connecting

Then a speck of blood above the ankle

And annoying itching

It seemed bug spray was perfume

attracting more than repelling

But the bites were always low

And socks did not help

And the weather was hot

with only intermittent breezes

to chase the enemy away

Watching from afar,

it seemed a strange dance

A sudden bite – reach down – jump around

as if that would keep the attackers away

Everyone complaining about the “bugs”

always asking for help – a new spray or something

to get rid of the menace

To no avail

Smiling I say – ‘they don’t bother me

How? They ask

My reply falls on deaf ears -

Just put on long pants.