The fly father and the uncles are busy
hurling themselves at the window. They swear
in buzz, and refuse to believe
in glass. If they can't see it,
it's not there, that's their story, and meanwhile
the mother is tenderly nestling eggs,
peeled-white and rice -grained,
in the cat food. Always she's rubbing her forelegs
and cocking her head while she considers the six sides
to every question.
To be green-black and filmy-winged,
a nuisance and a plague, germy! To be the carrier
of annoying news, bad news, never good, never good:
no one wants to see flies. To feast on garbage;
to walk on the open eyes of the dead!
To shake oneself into death
buzzing and buzzing while
someone searches for a swatter!
The fly family believes in reincarnation.
When it's your turn to go, they hope
they'll get to take you over,
so next time you'll be spoiler, handwasher,
seeker after decay, swarmer over the world,
unwelcome, fast, persistent.