sitting out back on the patio
trying to enjoy my drink and cigar
I’m dripping sweat because
it’s August in the southeast U.S.
the flies are swarming
making it impossible to relax
I go inside and ask my wife
where the fly swatter is
I take it outside and begin
mass murdering the little bastards
but as soon as I kill three
four more are on me
hovering my drink and
crashing into my head
the cigar smoke does
nothing to calm them
then I start saying the word
‘fly swatter’ out loud
it begins to sound absurd
like it’s not even a word
I recall as a youth when I
pronounced it ‘flyswuter’
I then think to myself,
we have some real
ballsy motherfuckers here
I’m holding the goddamn killing
instrument in my hand
and they continue to swarm me
landing on my face and arms
driving me absolutely mad
I look at the swatter
it’s seen better days
the plastic is starting to
come apart from the metal
you can’t expect to win a war
with a broken weapon
this battle is theirs
I retreat back inside
Gloomy Forebodings 