FLIES…

How they get in here, I know not,

Now all I ask is one clear shot,

With the flyswatter as he lands on a pot,

He seems to like me, especially,

Landing on the hand holding the swatter,

Seems he has more smarts than most others,

Maybe he had himself a human mother…?

He sees the swatter, won’t land near,

Maybe if I pour off a little beer,

He will land, sip it and be of good cheer,

Too early, it seems, for him to be here,

Usually later on in the springtime of the year…

Oh there he is landing on the counter,

Getting more bold, or just wants the beer,

Just stay there, a little more,

GOT THE MOTHERFUCKER, oh dear…

              © ed – 3/13/04