Daniel S. Irwin

The Fly


I’m half shot at the bar.

A tiny visitor lands on the rim

Of my glass and makes me think.

If you pull the wings of a fly,

Then hold it to your ear,

Can you hear it screaming?

If it slips outta your hand,

It could get stuck in your head

And might make some changes

In your brain.   Then you might

Get fly-ish and suddenly develop

A taste for garbage and dog crap.

Freak out the neighbors stickin’

Your head in the trash can and

Lickin’ their schnauzer’s ass.

You’d be jumpin’ off bar stools

Thinkin’ you could fly, end up

With a deathly fear of spiders,

Tremble at the frog’s croak.

It would just be a matter of time

‘Fore the big flyswatter gets ya

And you go splat.


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