Gene Fehler

Her hand darts hummingbird-quick.
Inside her closed fist I hear the fly buzz.
With magician’s hands, she traps it
between chubby, delicate fingers
and jerks its wings off. She drops it
on the counter next to my plate.
I leave no tip as I pay for my coffee
and half-eaten slice of pecan pie.

Outside, I glance back and see her laughing.
She enjoys life, I guess, and for all I know
the crippled fly still paces that greasy counter,
remembering the smell of the waitress’s apron,
the joy of dive-bombing her ears and eyes.
It knows now every action has a consequence.

I turn away. Halfway down the street
I slip a homeless person a fiver.

©2012 This work is the property of the author.


Posted on November 21, 2012, in Gene Fehler, POETRY and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. More fine work from Gene. I can relate to this. It’s not that I like flies, it’s the spirit of the those who enjoy pulling off their wings, that’s what I don’t like…

    Read Gene’s first poem here:

  2. It takes quite a poet’s verve and nerve to write a poem on a greasy spoon joint that makes us want to leave the table.

  3. ah, but the denouement with the homeless person was beautiful

  4. Repay cruelty with kindness, always a good plan.

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