Humid Hiking by marialegault puts us inside the body of a hiker who is hot, sweaty, and slowly being surrounded by mosquitoes. The speaker begins with small physical details: skin that feels sticky, hair plastered to the throat and face. Then the insects arrive, humming low to the ground. The parenthetical "(When will they land? Soon.)" works like a quick, nervous aside, and it makes the waiting almost as irritating as the bites.
The poem's neat irony is that the speaker's own heavy breathing draws the mosquitoes upward, so the effort of hiking helps attract the attack. Slapping at the bites does nothing, and the insects keep rising like "a living cloud." By the end, the speaker imagines being covered in dead mosquitoes and becoming "a walking towelette," "a moving sponge." The mood is itchy, sweaty, and grimly funny. The speaker sounds more fed up than frightened, and the poem makes the discomfort feel close and inescapable.