The fly

The fly

There’s a fly buzzing
around                      my head
as I inexplicably sit
beside a fire on a 30C day

It seems to think my head
is the centre of its universe
and that its job is to orbit
around                       me
as many times per minute
as possible

Its buzzing drone is so
                                    low
you can almost count
the number of vibrations per second
He’s undoubtedly been waiting
all winter
to cut loose and I serve
as a handy Sun to his Mercury

Best he not get too close
lest the sunspots lash out
to engulf him
Or her?

Poems by Jerry Iwanus

Published poems

Other poems published only on this site

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