There's a big
Black fly in my house.
It passes behind me,
In front of me,
Beside me,
careening wildly,
Never seeming to settle
Where I could get a good shot at it.
It annoys me,
Perplexes me,
Would seem to be taunting me
If there was room in that microscopic brain
For such intent.
It's as if
Gun violence,
Climate change,
Forest fires,
Earthquakes,
Volcanoes,
Songbird blights,
Supply chain issues,
And staffing shortages
Aren't enough, there needs to be more
Immediate distress.
There seems to be little I can do about it,
Like the forest of weeds
growing in the second storey gutter,
Out of reach.
But,
Maybe I can reach
Just this one.
I'll try.

Jim Buschmann