Itch

The feeling bursts like liquid fire,

Sharpened as a coiled wire,

Hate and anger coming forth

Then brief relief - the last resort.

But even these soon fade away

Until the only things that stay

Are all the pain and all the plight

That come from this mosquito bite.

Stale

The bread was fine the other day,
Fluffy like the sun in May,
Delicious-looking as a fresh-baked scone.

But now it seems that either end
Sorely miss their eaten friends -
Who left the loaf and left them all alone -

So much that when I take a piece
And welcome it with gnashing teeth,
I find that it has hardened into stone.