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The Fly Who Tried

 



What is that?  

Home is the hammer.


A fly — where is the fly?


I can’t find it,  

the one caught high in the web.


The spider is going to town,  

working the silk,  

and even the fly’s wing squeals —  

that hurts me.


He’s buzzing, buzzing, buzzing,  

a siren rising  

as the spider spins,  

fighting to the very last end.


What can I do?  

Nothing.


I can’t reach it.


He’s trying to pierce the web,  

push the web,  

push back the spider.  

Dust flaps.  

The spider circles closer.  

The fly won’t give up.


Then the spider is gone.  

Still the noise —  

more and more and more —  

annoying, desperate, alive.


Silenced heartbreak.  

I couldn’t reach him.  

I couldn’t stop it.  

The venom is taking hold.  

I tried to lift him out of the web  

but it was too high,  

too late.  

Nature had already decided.  

And that made me sad —  

really sad.  

I was just a fly.


But the spider has to eat.


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