THE FLY

There was a little bluebottle, sitting on my wall,

he wasn’t really very big and certainly not tall.

He seemed to be inanimate, almost half asleep,

waiting on a dinner date he knew he had to keep.

So, rolling up a newspaper, sure that it was tight,

I lunged across the room to whack him hard with all my might.

But, from the crashing baton then, not a need to hide,

casually he stepped away, just off to one side.

“The little sod” I said out loud, I think he saw me coming,

so stealthily, I forged a plan, soon to have him running.

I stood upon a lofty chair, advantageously I thought,

but the seat gave way and I fell through, cross legged and distraught.

With my legs held all together, inside the wooden frame,

I found my balance out of sorts, very soon then lame.

Across the tiled floor I went, skating on its shine,

until I found the dog’s blank face, forced to meet with mine.

He didn’t take much time at all, in thinking what to do,

instinctively he bit me hard until my nose was blue.

I yelled out loud into his face, as I felt the pain,

deafened dog, not content, he bit me then again.

Standing really quick, from under the kitchen table,

I thought that that was that you see, and that I was able.

But as the fly looked down on me, I felt my face turn red

when upon the tables drop leafed edge, I smacked my bleedin’ head.

With throbbing lobes and pounding nut, I thought that I would die,

then crashing hard into the door, the key into my eye,

it opened up decisively, from a windy gust,

bruised my face and broke my ribs, as I bit the dust.

So, when you spy a little fly, sitting on your wall,

before you strategise to kill him once and then for all,

consider all the time off work, unending drugs and care…

keep your baton to yourself and leave the bugger there!