With Rhyme and Reason We Rid Ourselves of Ourselves of Every Bug That Has Been Eating Our Rugs, ETC.

I thought we’d finally attained

an environment less stressed and strained,

that by means of strikes and sprays we’d reached our ends.


But there they are: In troth…a Moth,

just settled down to rest,

and surely breed, amongst the woolens.


They claimed, that if you aimed

this patent spray, at these fluttering creatures,

they’d soon decay;


At very least, they’d fly away.

That’s like what preachers say,

“Be good today, and you’ll go to heaven.”


But before your bona fides

are completed, you’ve got

to get your garden seeded,


and if you think you’ll make

that moth extinct,

you’re undoubtedly deluded;


for before their eggs

are washed away

they’ll have eaten up our sweaters,


the human race will all be gone,

replaced, we hope, by something better,

and moths, by then, will have evolved


into something tall and slender,

discussing in their cashmere nests

how to get rid of those post-human pests.