Roaches

The thought of roaches
makes my skin itch
the same way
thoughts of lice
send my finger nails
heading for the hills
of my hair

i don't want to be in my flesh
want to scratch it off
and toss
all my belongings
in plastic bags
out in the driveway for all the
eyes of suburbia
to graze upon...

i come bearing the brown spots
of your worst memories
with legs scurrying
out of your vision
to live in
your subconscious
the past creeps to the present
we are elephants haunted
by mice.