Ode to a Louse

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Die, mother suckers, die.
I’ve found the mother bug.
Enemy engaged and gnoshing on our scalps.
Freeze it all to hell and back.
Seven times hotter can’t burn away the creepy crawlies.
Odor will kill us for sure but maybe not them.
Literal nit picking brings loads of figurative enlightenment.
Don’t stop until you don’t see the whites of the egg sacs.
They crawl away and live to gnosh another day
While we wheeze and wonder at near ignominious defeat.