Ode to a Housefly
By Greg Illes
Nobody mourned when the housefly died.
Nobody eulogized, nobody cried.
As a matter of fact, after spotting it,
Stealthily stalking and swatting it,
Then cleaning up the well-worn swatter
In hot and steaming soapy water,
Hanging the much-used tool back up
Beside the dishes and the cups,
She sat back down at the dinner table
Just as soon as she was able,
To get her friends’ congratulations
And then continue conversations.
Nobody’s sad at a housefly’s demise.
The creature is hated and widely despised.
Houseflies are found all over the map,
Flying in search of a pile of crap.
Dwellers in filth from the moment of birth,
Crawling as maggots in dark rotten earth,
Then flitting and buzzing, to land anyplace:
The table, your dinner, your hair, or your face.
Those little green bastards will ruin your mood,
Halt conversation, and spoil your food.
The much-maligned housefly (and rightfully so)
Will never be welcome – it just has to go.
Nobody weeps when a housefly is killed.
In fact, we are usually pleased, even thrilled.
Once in a room, they will buzz all around,
Driving us nuts with their presence and sound.
With screens and with poisons, flypaper and sprays,
We deal with the pests through our nights and our days.
A sticky wet snack on chameleon’s tongue,
Crawling around on a pile of dung –
Disgusting images flit through our thoughts
As we smash flies on walls into red and black spots.
For an unwary housefly, caught taking a nap,
Will quickly expire with a swish and a WHAP!
Greg Illes is a retired systems engineer who loves thinking up RV upgrades and modifications (and an occasional poem). When he’s not working on his motorhome, he’s traveling in it. You can follow his excellent blog at
www.divver-city.com/blog
