The will to kill sleeps lightly.
Mine startled from the deep
by a fat little fly.
Not by the bug itself,
not by its hive of eyes
or six furry legs that double
as a tongue and taste my arm
when they land on it.
But by the whirr of its wings
Hundreds of times each second --
I can’t think!
Oh that horrific hum
Seems trillions of times bigger
than the black speck itself!
That is what carves away
my patience, my humanity
for the chase from wall to lamp
to door to wall and back to chair
Without a care for this bug’s role
in the stream of life.
I'll wait, sure as a spider
sulking on her silky thread.
This buzzing beast will die tonight.
Copyright (c) 2012 Ellen McCarthy. All rights reserved.