Fly

This morning the fly drew
wide zig-zags toward the playroom’s
east window. Sunlight glinged Vermeer-perfect
from Felicia’s abandoned carmel.

Later the fly was trapped
inside a medicine cabinet, captured
in cool darkness, mid-feast, snug at the pinnacle of
a drop of minty toothpaste.

At 4 o’clock the fly was
released into the refrigerator humm
of the empty kitchen where it crept ’round
the endless periphery of a sugar bowl.

Crazy with stimulants the fly
found itself screaming inside
a soda bottle, Felicia’s moist
hand blocking the wet opening.

So that by evening, soggy
and exhausted, the fly
found its way into the labyrinth
of a pale blue recycling bag.

At 11:00 Felicia slept soundly:
the fly followed the blowing pull-chain
of a ceiling fan ‘round
and ‘round in languid circles.

© 1995 Catherine Weaver All rights reserved.

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