It sounds like a cracker
each time a bug-zapper
electrocutes one of those insects.
To protect our meat pies
from pic-nicking flies,
that zapper is nowhere near perfect.
It’s a haphazard thug
killing mostly good bugs
important for plant pollination
plus millions of beetles
who never harm people.
It’s rather a sad situation.
Their UV light glow
won’t attract mosquitoes.
It’s CO2 breath mozzies seek.
So this gadget’s NO-GO
and, for those in the know,
it’s best to use bug spray with DEET.
A small object of fate
Sits on a leaf of green dew
Hidden in his smallness.
Little red and black creature
Crawling along endless stems
Paths that lead overboard
Crossing over lines with tiny feet
Pattering towards safety.
In a safe blanket of grass and daisies
Hunting for a crumb of food
Or a bed untrodden by feet.
Illustration by Gemma Creegan
Jumping, biting, annoying,
Sneaky little flea.
Scritch, scratch, scritch,
I have a terrible itch.
How do I ditch this itch?
A flea on board,
Becomes a terrible game.
Flea twister is no fun,
Trying to find the little biter.
Take off your clothes,
And jump into the sea,
Swim, dive, and float,
Surf a few waves.
No more itch,
Wash those clothes,
Peace at last,
No more sneaky little flea.
She is not the Japanese beetle
who devastates rows of basil plants;
that brown and black fellow chomping
circles in your garden spaghetti herbs.
She is not elongated, black and lemon-tipped
like Soldier beetle who swarms in number
spring and summer; gardeners anxious they’re
plaguing Melbourne. Crusader beetle is not
bejeweled in topaz, emerald or sapphire
like Jewel beetle. Nor is she the roller
of poop like Dung beetle, ready to squeeze
her offspring inside (like famous Alexander
Beetle’s matchbox) reducing methane as she
dillies away on a cow pat in less than twenty-four
hours. No! Crusader beetle is neither of these,
but a “Joan of Arc” carrying her bannered symbol
on a bluish back. A cross in clear salute, as if
she is proud of her history, out there warring
against predators, her pink and grey feelers
tapping out miles travelled between home and
Acacia bloom, wing-pads blazoned with that
repellent X, proliferating Indonesia, the Indo-
Pacific, or at home, her hind femur and inner
teeth ready to slay Australia’s backyard weeds.
Australian Children’s Poetry 