The Fruit Fly

Fuzzy and undefined, like a drunken helicopter engaged yet disengaged from his peers.

Shadowing bananas and long-since-emptied glasses of red wine and orange juice.

Like a tiny speck of shredded black wool, the fruit fly lingers in the kitchen, clearly searching for a home once the counters are clear and the dishes are finished.

And dreaming of an open container of strawberries or the next sloppily made peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Comments

[Jackie Webber]

Watch the fruit fly die
Mind if I try?
Bat an eye and have another try
Nether and nye, allusive and sly
Little buggers they feast upon blueberry pie

[Dan]

Nicely worded, my friend.