Originally published in Permafrost #35.1
I’m keeping the window open
while I watch
a fly I swatted
clean itself and rummage over
the fresh carcasses
of five other flies I killed
under a lamp.
I watch its senses drift off
in a bright envelope the way you
and I watch television,
its blue light offering comfort
from fear of the lonely future,
when you get up to turn off
the faucet and wonder
if the living room clock
is ticking louder than usual,
when your eyelids twitch
in the swarm of gnats
above the dishwater
and the sticky wine glasses,
if there’s any way to
fix the steady vexation,
any honest way
to hold back.