My Mute Playmates

Wednesday, February 11, 2009


MY MUTE PLAYMATES


By Philip Cairns


Copyright 2009 by Philip Cairns


I fell in love with a bedbug, once.

It’s tendril of anaesthetic sent me into a stupor of ecstasy and bliss.

I told him all my secrets and he didn’t hate or mistreat me.

I was grateful for that.


I French-kissed a cockroach one lonely Saturday night.

I couldn’t find any willing guy so I figured a cockroach would do,

Just as well.

At least I was getting some cock, or so it seemed, at the time.

His feelers tickled me and made me laugh.

It was only a quickie so there was no chit-chat.

In fact, he scurried away before I could catch his name.


My best friend was a June bug for numerous years.

I liked the fact that he listened to my impassioned rants

And never argued with me or raised a hand, as if to strike me.

Yet I had a twisted affair with Gorgeous George for many, many years

And he hurt me more than the sting of a friendly bee.

My bee friend meant no malice when he jabbed me with his sharp needle.

He was only fulfilling his destiny and running on instinct.


Gorgeous George would yell at me.

Tell me I was a piece of shit.

Torture me with his words and deeds and force me to snort coke.

This curly-haired muscle-bound prick would try to sabotage my career

In sly and insidious ways.

I was dazzled by his Playgirl façade and big, pouty lips.


I’d rather hop on the back of a grasshopper with not a care in the world.

Fly with the eagles, like I do in my dreams.

The bedbug would sleep quietly with me and bite me awake at dawn.

He would sit placidly on the table when I ate my breakfast.


George would be gone at 4 a.m.,

Leaving a whirlwind mess and anger and frustration in his wake.

The ladybug was polite to me.

I loved her sweet, caring smile.

No matter what I said, it never left her face.


She wasn’t like the fat Welfare worker who always called me a liar

When I told her the absolute honest-to-God truth.

My ladybug friend is so beautiful.

The shimmering colours of her attire always complement my clothes

When she triumphantly rides on my shoulder at social events,

Looking like a jewel-encrusted brooch.


Gorgeous George always has to call the shots or he explodes in venom and bile.

Who could have imagined that this rank puddle of vomit

Would be wrapped in such a voluptuous, appealing package?!


My critter playmates have all left me.

Disappeared into the night, like a vanishing circus act.

I’m stronger, now.

I no longer need them.

George has gone, as well.

But he’ll be back, if I allow it.


I miss the neon orange of the ladybug’s back.

Now, the bedbug bites with vengeance and revenge.

It’s sad, the way things turned out.