belz

I smooshed a little fruit fly
a-floating through the air
between my clapping hands, I did,
and saw his wee corpse there
no larger than a dot of ink
upon my right ring finger
and washed my hands a-thoroughly
in soap and warm tap water
and dried them to near dryness
on a dish towel hanging over
a chair nearby—

                  and then, thought I,
perhaps I shoun’ta killed him:
perhaps he was the happy type
that floats about a kitchen
to bring a grin, a visage bright
and ward off human sadness.

But killing bugs I sometimes do
to exorcise my badness,
or I’d kill dogs and maybe men
and maybe all mankind—
this little fly, he took one, then,
to save lives—yours and mine.

This entry was posted on Monday, October 22, 2012 at 3:00 pm and is filed under 1.