The Fly

There was a little bluebottle, sitting on my wall,

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

He seemed to be inanimate almost half asleep,

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


So I rolled up a newspaper, sure that it was tight,

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 saw me coming,

I’ll be sure to be quick this time, soon to have him running.

Stood on a chair attacked from high, one good plan I thought,

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


With my legs then held together by the wooden frame,

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

As I fell to the tiled floor skating on its shine,

my momentum forced the dog’s blank face 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,

little bastard, 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 the fly looked down from on high, and my face turned red

as upon the tables drop leaf edge, I smacked my bleedin’ head.


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

as I crashed into the door, the key into my eye,

it opened then decisively, from a windy gust

and finally with broken ribs, I screamed and 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!