Contributed by Zoe Cole
Dead mosquitos in my bed
I hear them fly around my head
With little brains and speedy wings
I toss their carcass with a fling
The other dat I went to hike
When I encountered a 'skeeter tyke
He must have called his friends to us
'Cause soon the trip turned murderous
We wack, slap, flick and squish
The Alaskan 'skeet are devilish