Fly

There is a fly in here with me,

Just me and the fly

He seems to want,

More to do with me,

Than I want with him

He seems interested in the typewriter,

Interested in what I’m drinking,

Interested in the ashtray,

And my burning cigarette

His buzz is also a little too loud

That very buzz has interrupted,

Coltrane’s live version of “Giant Step”

And as the fly lands on the rim of my glass,

Takes a sip of my drink,

And interferes with a sacred live performance,

I realize he is not a friend

He has become nothing more than a mere nuisance

Just another pain in the ass,

In this near empty writer’s room

Like the patron at the bar,

That nobody wants to sit near

Well, now something must be done

In the last five minutes,

This tiny pest has managed to take me,

From writer/drinker/music lover,

And changed me into a hunter

He has also changed, in that small amount of time

Going from useless and benign,

To a “Dead Man (Fly) Walking”

So I roll a new smoke,

Fill a fresh glass,

And calmly fold today’s sports page

The jury is out,

“Death by splatter”, is the verdict

And I wait and listen,

Listen to “Chasin’ The Trane”,

And that ever-present buzz

And then, like the fly knew time was up,

He landed on the center of the desk,

And politely sat motionless

We both took a moment,

Listened to the final notes of the song,

Then I used the roaring applause of the crowd for cover,

And lowered the boom

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

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