Fly Update & Poem of the Week

In light of the plight of the fly, I'm posting a poem that is about ten-years-old, and dedicating it to my winged captive, who--in spite of my having opened the window, tapping the screen, and wishing him well, is still clinging to the screen. Up and down, up and down. I had to close the window again as it is chilly outside.

I'll try later to coax him out, and hopefully he'll resume his rich life of sugar-hunting, shit-wallowing, and corpse-squating. Until then, he's keeping himself busy and active with lots of cardio and, I suppose during moments of pause and introspection, he has his memories to get him through these trying times. One cannot live the entitled life of a maggot forever, can one?

Fake kisses,

Cindy


Survival Instinct

Those sedentary ways
make a home for
dusty cobwebs.
Mites increase and nest
in boredom’s vacant crannies.

Opportunists anywhere
along this crowded food chain
can spot a meal
from miles away.
Consumption is inevitable

Hold fast your grip
onto the rungs
of primal limbic wisdom.
Survival begs
that there are just
two kinds of creatures:

Us,
and them.

Cindy St. Onge