There is a fly. Too small to be a FLY in capital letters
I dub it Fruit Fly. I don't know how it thrives,
tries to butt my desk lamp. Caught in the beam
it blushes red, translucent as a traffic light,
till it changes lanes to disappear in darkness.
All diversions are fruitless. It comes back,
an irritant with a knack of avoiding each swat
I swing...
Setting a trap with an open-paged book ready to snap,
I become a hunter, judging the moment
to dispel the torment of circling knat or fly
in the twinkling of an eye.
Persistence wins.
SPLAT!
I sin; pray forgive such mindful murder...
Now his sorry tale can go no further.
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