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Rated: E · Poetry · Comedy · #844726
Dedicated to all who lost their lives to the Blue Banshee swatter between 1998 and 2004.
Fly
(04/24/2004)


Winged picnic visitor, I see you there
and you are mine.
Genetically programmed for this hunt,
my pupils dilate with excitement.
I watch you, stealthily, as the
Discovery Channel, Mutual of Omaha
lion that you might have seen
from over my shoulder
in last Tuesday night's re-run.

But you, gazelle!.................................................quickly!
How you do dart.................and

no......distraction,.........................no
..........no, not.....................angry,

.............................................................................................NO!
annoying?.......no..............pesky?....................distracting?
................................................no!

We welcome your blessings.
Watermelon, barbecue, and you --
you form our picnic trinity!
You bring us joy,.................................................distracting us
from daily dilemmas, traditional ab-
normalities,
and I suddenly find myself
strongly influenced by piƱatas and matadors that...
....side-step into my mind
to the festive sounds
of Tijuana brass.
"Ole," I say, under my breath.

Four parts to a bullfight,
fates pre-determined, doom inescapable.
Enjoy this tradition, these acts, this drama, your tragedy,
but please don't be offended
by the plastic mesh and wire substitution
for the red-ripple cape.

Raise...
Aim...
SWAT!
Scrape...

Four parts to a bullfight,
with format slightly modified to fit my screen.
Suddenly-planar angel, may your wings still lift you
to your mound of brown pie in the sky.
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