i sometimes wonder about fruit flies
whole civilizations born from
two horny bugs
empires that hover over
my decaying nectarines
they cluster and swarm
and i worry about inbreeding
about the thousands of retarded spawn
they must be producing
i worry that maybe it
gets so bad
that they forget how
to have sex
they fly around jabbing their
penises into each other
poking out eyes and shattering wings,
dying alone and loaded with sperm.
how tragic that would be, i think
as I drop the nectarines into the trash.
the cloud of flies scatters around the room
the buzzing grows steadily quieter.
from the September 2004 issue of High Altitude Poetry
more of my poems from HAP here.