The Fly

What are you to buzz about so,
Unappointed by me in the business of buzzing?
What thing of gods would feign usurp the true suzerain
With vile and bulbous eyes and mocking flight ungraceful
And twitching wings and drunken volleys?
I despair I cannot kill you any more than I can kill you;
Leave your blood and spidery legs and unnameable loathsome
Swatted pieces static and untwitching in blanker oblivion.

© Rhett Talley