The Fly

I’m sorry, God, I cannot love

The fly

No matter how I try.

Floaters, bloated on dead flesh

And faeces

Lovers of the stale and the excreted

A species

I wish could be deleted.

I’m sorry, God, but why oh why

Did you create

The common fly?

Spiders I can abide when they approach

At a push, not crush a scuttling roach

But the fly I hate to bits.

Brings out in me a deathwish.

Its.

I’m sorry, God, I cannot lie

This morning I image a fly.

And it felt good.