That Blasted Fly Poem by Wanda Bailey

The ticking of a clock,
the only sound
invading my silence.
I'm relaxed in the luxury
of the moment. Ever so
faintly my tranquility is
imposed upon by an intrusive,
annoying sound. I try to
wish it away, even ignore it
but so quickly it descends
into my space, buzzing,
flitting about, irritating,
frustrating and stealing
my restful repose.
I jump to my feet,
retrieve a fly swatter,
chase the fly around the
room. SPLAT! !
The fly is gone.
So is my restful repose..

9-22-2005