The Chigger

Cherry-red and not much bigger
Than your patience is the chigger.
Though its pallette’s nice and brightful,
Palatably you’re delightful
To this tiny gastronome
Which burrows in and makes its home
Beneath the skin above the ankles
Of its hosts, which really rankles:
Dropping in to have a bite
Is one thing, but it’s impolite
To parlay that non-invitation
To a lower-leg vacation
With one minor pinch-point, which is
That its overnight site itches
More than you’d at first suspect
(And that’s before scratch wounds infect).
Measuring from one to ten
The formication in your shin
Where one’s a kiss and ten’s a horror,
It’s a ninety-four or morror
And keeps getting worse until
You’re questioning Thou Shalt Not Kill,
And that’s the point at which the varlet’s
Taught you why the Devil’s scarlet
And has subterranean digs:
His inspiration’s Mr. Chigs.