A Fly In The Window
Peskiness does not deserve death, I believe.
Nor filth, in a fair life sort of way.
I have noticed in these last fleeting years that my
outlook upon the retched has changed.
Clamoring in like a winter to spring, stubbornly but eventual.
A coming that can’t be shoved to the back corner,
hidden under the frayed, soda stained carpets.