#438
Old Eyes
I have a pet floater,
I call him Mo,
I take him with me
Wherever I go.
He lives in my eye
And moves like the ghost
Of a long dead mosquito,
The bug I hate most.
Some days the floaters
Are numerous as stars,
But Mo always stays there
In orbit like Mars.
Sometimes I swipe
At a passing brown blot
Before it can bite me,
Forgetting it's not--
A mosquito!