A fly entered my room. The first to stay.
I tried to lure him through the door. He stayed.
I swatted with futility. His march
Continued. I locked him out. He crawled back
And flew above my head. “So you came back!”
(Supposing it was nice to have a fan.)
They say don’t meet your heroes. I sprayed him
To what I thought was death. Somehow this mass
Of inky grief refused to die. His heart
Was countable—104 cells
That beat mockingly. He crawled inside
A shoe or underneath the bed. The cells
Will attract bugs. A spider first. Then worms.
I wish he’d return. At least to let me know.
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