Saturday, 2 May 2020


The Fly.

Curse it's constant buzzing sound,
Tiny fly pasts round and round.
Lands then waits 'til you forget,
Back again but he'll regret,
Entering my sacred space,
Waving arms I shout and chase.
Always he avoids my swats,
Really fucking hate him lots.
Taunting me he ducks and dives,
Surely wasting both our lives.
Must stay calm, my hand is strong,
Flies don't really live that long.
Yes he might bounce off my head,
But in a week he should be dead.

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