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It was a tidy day.
The lawn was tidy, the house was tidy,
his life was tidy.
He lay in the hammock, swinging gently and thinking gen’rally
of summer grasses and willowing trees.
A fly lit upon his thigh. “Buzz off,” said the man, rather drowsily.
But the fly did not flee.
“Bother,” he said, and waved his arm, impatiently at first
but growing more violent until, at last, he smote the place
on his thigh from which the fly would not flee
with a blow that was mighty; “Pesky!” cried he.
had escaped unsurprised the smoting he was due
with his fly-feather wings and eighty-six eyes.
The hammock was now quickly rocking from all the swatting
and the man was soon tipped onto the tidy lawn.
“Devil of a pest,” he muttered at the fly.
The screen door opened. “What are you doing in the grass, Ed?”
said his wife. “Trying to be cute? Come in for lunch.”
The screen door shut. “Shoot,” said Ed,
“lunch already?” and he clambered up the steps.
Through all this the fly had remained quite mute.
While tending to his nutrition, Ed mentally resumed his position:
the hammock idle in the noontime sun.
On the fence, unseen, sat the fly, waiting for a breeze
to pique the antennae on his head.
Out the screen door with a creak came Ed, and
try as he might he could not spy the fly,
his enemy. “How nice,” he smiled.
Reclining in the hammock, entwining his hands, Ed closed
his eyes, the sun brightly shining, and strove
to recall the tidy thoughts he had been thinking.
The fly was full of rage; the man would not find peace.
“Though I seem the least threat,” cried the fly, “I
will undo you!” Beast circled man, wings
whirring, evil designing.
The hammock swung lazily as the fly set down.
The daisies watched the sky go around.
A twitch in the man’s feet: The tidy lunch
had caused him to fall asleep.
Summer 2004. Revised
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