Directly above the dining table,
suspended from a ceiling anchor,
was a gooey, gluey, fly strip.

Fountained from a cardboard
green cylinder, resembling a
shotgun cartridge, fired.

The flies, numbering too many
to mention, were a metaphorical
symbolism, for the lead pellets.

Underneath, on the same axis,
was the serendipity of their
demise, a crumbed bread board.