The buzzing is industrious,
I have never heard buzzing with such zest,
A wasp?
A fly?
A bee?
Some other buzzing insect unknown to me?
The volume does not cease,
This beast is trying to communicate,
And I get the sense it knows it's fate,
Unless someone or something hears it's death march by wing.
Curiosity takes hold of me,
And though I do not wish to get drawn in,
I find myself looking for the source behind the bathroom bin,
And I do not stop searching till,
I find it on the windowsill,
Its body fighting against a web,
Every movement tangling it more into the thread.
A small common housefly,
That knows it will die?
Does it see my face,
As I watch,
Telling it to pace itself,
Suggesting it slows down?
Does it frown, does it scream,
'Save me you stupid bitch,'
As I watch it twitch?
Then I clean my teeth,
Trying to pretend,
The message it is trying to send is not reaching me,
Just as I cannot bear the dilemma anymore,
I realise there is silence.
Deep down I do not care that the fly is dead
Has quit,
I'm just glad my dilemma died with it.