not for your death but for my life.
It matters not to me that you will never
fly. Nor may you blame my poison for
your struggle; it is only what I am
and what I do. Your billions of offspring would choke
the world, did I and those like me not need
to spin for food. Am I an evil? For you,
yes, I am; were I capable of sorrow,
I would apologize. But every eater
is evil to its food, unless the food
somehow enjoys being eaten. Well.
How nice for you, the fly replied.
You had a meal, and so I died.
Was this the end for which i came
into this world? For shame!
So free was I to flit about
for one brief moment; then, snuffed out.
So might the dinner-talk have gone
for hours more, if not for one
who interrupted on that date;
whose job was to exterminate.
feeling only a bit strangely today
(not that I seldom feel this way)
