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