Musca domestica, you confidently surveyed
the kitchen scene. Brazenly circling my cranium.
Hadn't you even considered your own days, limited
though they may be. Why not spread your thorax,
your wings, your arista in the wide open world beyond
these quarters? Why taunt me and fate, and the whip
of the tea towel spinning now hurtling with unhesitating
force; it brought you down. Compound eyes compounded.
You lost your flight, tibia, femur, tarsus crushed!