An Invasion of Privacy

The tick had found its meal in some part private,
where I could not descry its minute form.
Yet still a soapy finger had detected
Something small and hard: not of the norm.
(As a rube, and as a gardener, I knew ticks;
I knew they loved the warm and dark for dwelling,
unperturbed by whatever they were smelling.)

To detach this prongéd vampire I had to see it,
And assumed a posture odd so this could be.
The ambient light could not get 'round the corners,
To illuminate this curse of nature's lair.
(This spot of course was pretty dark and furthermore,
There was a presence of odd assorted hair.)

I taped a flashlight to the mirror's handle
And precariously sat crisscross to find a route
For the beam and the reflection to find Dracula,
(No bat this time, no tuxedo for his suit).

There sat Tick, plumbed into my pink tissues,
Ingesting me as happly as could be
I plucked the monster forth with special tweezers,
And flushed his tiny corpse out to the sea.
(Not Zen enough, I, to respect so vile a beast,
But still he had a burial at sea, at least.)