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I was having so much trouble with my roses
you couldn’t see the poor leaves for black spot,
so I called up the gardening centre,
They said they’d send the best man that they’d got.

With pomp, he arrived on that Monday
His chariot – a weathered landscapers van.
Written across the sides in bold letters,
“Trigger-hand Trevor The Bug Spraying Man.”

Behind my net curtains, I eyed him
As in spurs, he clanked to my door
a swaggering weed-wrangling cowboy
in my chest something started to soar.

He towered over me on my doorstep:
a mass of smoldering good looks and brown skin.
Clad in cowboy boots and jeans of tight denim
He must have jumped off the truck to get in

He wore a frayed, 10-gallon hat of raw leather.
His belt was crammed with every tool, an array.
Stretched across his great barrel chest a tight T-shirt
With the words “Come on, bugs. Make my day!”

My whole body started a’ quivering
at this beautiful masculine sight.
He uttered, as if gargling gravel
“I’m here to put an end to your blight.”

Still shaking, I led him out back then
to the place where black beetle still reigned.
He slipped on his gloves like a master
His hawk eyes my garden surveyed.

Pulling out two spray bottles from his belt loop,
armed and deadly, he pulled down his hat.
As his fingers twitched on the triggers
he warned, “Ma’am, you’d better stand back.”

As a master, he started a’ firing
first to the left then the right with such speed,
little bodies dropped all around him,
when he’d finished, there wasn’t even a weed.

“It safe to come out ma’am,” he called to me.
“You won’t be having no more trouble with your pest.”
As he blew smoke from the tips of his bottles, added
“That’s why they call me the best trigger in the West.”

As he left, I just couldn’t stand it
Running up my path I clung to his leg.
“Trevor I can’t live without you.
Please take me with you,” I cried, and I begged.

He flashed me a smile that did melt me
Pulling me close, rasped, “hop on my van.”
My days are now spent filling his bottles –
My Trevor, the Bug Spraying Man.

 

 

Suzanne Kelman is the author of “The Rejected Writers Book Club” and her writing voice has been described as a perfect blend of Janet Evanovich and Debbie Macomber. She is also a multi-award winning screenwriter whose accolades include Best Comedy Feature Screenplay – L.A. International Film Festival (2011) Gold Award – California Film Awards (2012) and Winner – Van Gogh Award – The Amsterdam Film Festival (2012). Born in the UK she now resides in Washington State.

Favorite poets: “Pam Ayres–great comedy poems.”

 

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