Yesterday afternoon The Fly followed me through my door
flying in with the wind because the wind flows with the
confidence of one who knows where to go
I, too, follow the wind when I crave an adventure
but The Fly couldn’t have known that my home
has no treasure near, only disarray and disaster here
I inform The Fly that there are better places to explore
so I reopen my screen door but The Fly turns to my kitchen
past dishes I stole from my mother and phone charger from my brother
bills informing me that my debt is higher and my car insurance will expire,
a coffee-stained “Best Girlfriend” mug gifted from a now-ex boyfriend,
which I tell The Fly I still use because of my affinity for dramatic irony
That evening I would’ve invited The Fly to sleep in my bed
but my restlessness would’ve crushed him instead
Someone like me is better off alone, I tell The Fly
but since he’s inspected my home, I suspect
he doesn’t need me to explain why
In the morning I found The Fly in a frenzy
Slamming into the wall and spazzing after each fall
His tempo became slow as he buzzed like a dull radio
I swayed him towards the window but he refused to go
Until he dropped to the floor and The Fly moved no more
When I mourned I wondered if he passed because of me
though I warned The Fly that my company is poor quality
Maybe he meant to commence the beginning of his end
Maybe he understood and I misunderstood The Fly
Maybe he recognized that within my presence he’d die
My name is Melissa Kerman and I’m a writer from Long Island.