Bottle Fly's Poem by James McLain

Damn bottle fly's.
Spring has sprung it's funk,
here I live, I'm not alone.
On my bed the cats, they fart.
The flys have smelled
the cheese the cats have made.
Their farts attract the flys, three
Circles,
two circle like a plane
with out a place to land.
Bottle flys,
flys that walk across
the pale fish eyes.
One fights a roach
and walks across the crotch
of drawers left out unwashed.
The farting cats
you think of dogs like that.
Bottle flys that walk on turds.
Across my food,
food like you, that I left out.
Angry that they flew so far away.