You heard a fly buzz when you died?
I killed a bug in my prime—
a gross, lumbering creature
swathed in black, dreadful red eyes.

Can’t a man enjoy his morning tea?
the saucer there all innocent
the beautiful pastoral scene
gazing out, the fowl flit and chirp.

Could I not be a guinea hen?
an evolved and pointed beak
a nose for finding little bugs
and no need for any courage

to squash that bug, its bulbous form
legs and life dwindling beneath my eye.

13 May, 2008