The Fly

Buzz around in figure eight

Million eyes can spot a plate

Lots of food, a little scotch

Think I’ll land on wall and watch

Nothing moves while second splits

Time to move in for my grits

Swoop on down and rest my feet

Puke my guts on piece of meat

Little boy who spots me there

Tries to catch me unaware

Thinks I can’t see hands draw near

As he comes in from the rear

Closer closer closer still

Watch him come in for the kill

Swoops his hand and clenches fist

Way too slow my friend you missed

Once again in figure eight

Meat was nice back on that plate

Fly spray can and flick of wrist

Air is filled with toxic mist

Can’t get back to yummy roast

only cos I’ve overdosed

Fall to table flat on back

Spin spin spin till all goes black