All it takes is one bright day
when premature spring warms the roof
and I hear buzzing,
see a dark flitting at the edge of sight,
a flicker of flying filth,
dark dot clusters spotting surfaces.
That itchy zoom-past and you know peace is impossible.
Nature’s design has a place for everything, I know
but the fly…
This revolting germ-distribution weapon
carries shame on cellophane wings.
It skulks in corners,
many lenses judging and presuming
hospitality in an unwiped drip.
Bulging eyes also noting murder in my soul
compassion’s twitching throes knee-deep in flypaper glue.
And this year’s battle has begun.
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