…in a high-rise t’ split people up. Ever’one goes in t’ self-imposed quarantine. You git scared to set next to some’un who MIGHT have ’em and ain’t no one shakin’ any hands! No one is huggin’ anyone and all anyone whispers ’bout is “Who got ’em?” Them bedbugs. No one wants t’ invite ’em in for a set ’cause no one want them little suckers in the house!
No one want no aig-droppin’ fellow inmate droppin’ in! Jus th’ thought makes ya’ itch!
Ever’one slams their cane ends over any spot that even looks like it might move! Ever’one tie knots in long clothes to keep ’em off th’ floor and people roll up pant legs and spray Skin-so-soft all over them feet!
This was ‘sposed to be th’ best place. Th’ queen of the public housin’ an’ it is but they’s bed-bugs in th’ buildin’ an no one sayin’ much ‘ceptin’ in whispers and ever’one who know done throw’d cloves under all th’ wooden furniture and got talc salted down reel good under them beds. Prolly most people’s gonna be OK but they tell stories up in heah ’bout last September when one whole floor was crawlin’ and it ain’t September ‘gain yit and them little suckers live for nigh on more n’ a year!
Bed bugs is truly ‘Murican. They doan care how rich you are ‘r how clean or perfec’ you ‘r. They doan care none ’bout race, faith, color or nuthin’ they just know only one thing:
Warm blooded = a meal.