It seems when flies get in from the outside,
They never find how to get out again;
Instead they only buzz around and hide,
A game that often is the death of them.

At times hours pass when you think they have died
But then you glimpse a shadow, hear a hum,
And know that they again are on the fly
With strategies to keep you on the run,

Sneaking anew in places not yet tried
To lull you once again into inaction,
Until at last you catch them in new light
Where window panes offered some fresh attraction

And drew them on, like cattle to the slaughter,
Under the sudden squash of your fly swatter.



David L. Williams is recently retired from 34 years teaching high school English in Lincoln, Nebraska, his primary residence since he went to college there in the 80s. He has been published in Autumn Sky Daily Poetry, Rat’s Ass Review, Masque & Spectacle, Live Nude Poetry, Sublunary Review, and Provenance Journal. More about David and his poetry at his webpage, http://classwords.com.

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4 Responses

  1. Morrison Handley-Schachler

    Thanks for this amusing poem, David. It sums up a common experience.

    A tragic ending with a crunch,
    Not only for the flies,
    But for the spiders, too, whose lunch
    Is spoiled before their eyes.

  2. Margaret Coats

    Nice summer sonnet, David, with an interesting rhyme scheme abab acac adad ee. The “a” rhymes keep appearing again and again like the flies, until the couplet slaughters them with the swatter. Good job.

  3. Janice Canerdy

    Your sonnet is skillfully written, entertaining, and very


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