There’s this fly buzzing
around in my
apartment, divebombing
my head and
generally annoying me.
He swoops and flits
and bounces off
my cheek but
he never flies into
my rolled-up
newspaper.

He seems to be
enjoying himself,
the cheeky little
******
making faces at me.
What do you have
to smile about?
A hundred eyes
and **** on grass
still looks sweet
to you.

What is his purpose?
To annoy everything
else on this
planet?
If so, he’s doing
a **** fine job
of it, better
than anything else
wallowing around
in this hell.
Better than me,
that’s for sure,
shown up by
a ******* fly!

Later on, I find
him dead on the
windowsill, his little
legs sticking up
in the air,
his wings spread out,
ready to fly off
into the afterlife,
heaven-bound, if such
a heaven exists.
I hope not,
I don’t want an afterlife
that I have to
share with
him.

I flick him out
the window
and wonder if there’s
someone up there
with his thumb
and *******
in a circle
ready to give me
the same treatment.

Bring
it
on,
old
man,
bring
it
on.