brainstream inspired by a warm summer evening

*NOTE* This is not meant to be a poem. It's just pure randomness.

mosquitoes
heard one doing a free-style trumpet solo
expected his attack any second
if he had already had his fill, he'd have his mouth full
his mouth, which is, coincidentally, his trumpet
as I hear the strains of "oh, when the saints come marching in" I imagine he must be alerting the others of the upcoming social event of the evening
carnival with my blood as the most popular concession
I don't know much about the economy of the insect but I imagine them selling this rusty nectar for much more than its worth--it being so available
if not me
than perhaps another of the 5-point-something billion unsuspecting humans on this planet
I suppose they'd have to charge for all the trouble some brave or stupid soldiers go through in collecting the blood
after all there is the slightest chance that they will be smashed by my flying hand slapping skin
splattering thick life-juice upon my arm and new white t-shirt
leaving me with small white bumps
quickly becoming welts due to the lack of discipline in my scratching fingers
leaving the mosquito fiesta with one less participant