A Fly In The Window Poem by Kim Mulroney

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.

I felt sorry for him, as I fingered the swatter I little knew I had,
even knowing his nastiness. But how could I
be sure he indeed had arrived from the garbage rot?
Simply because he was a maggot at birth, can I condemn him?

Is it written in fine rich stone somewhere those born with the silver spoon syndrome
are to be held lovingly with great sacrifice high above the rot on extended red carpets?
Making all the swatter decisions for the lowest of the low? And if the red carpet man had
been late and my back was covered in a fine crimson silk, would I be expected, coming from the
stainless steel spoon neighborhood, to crack on knees and offer my scarlet back to those of silver?
Just like the maggot, you never know where THEY have been.
Dumb things I watch and wonder about. Like where's the gold spooned?
with that I smile a gaggle and open the window to set him free, it is not up to me to judge.


K. Mulroney
5-14-2009