A Versified Tale as True as the Hills
By Mark Miner

I got stung by a fly
I do not know why
on the sole of my foot
which I carelessly put
on top of the fly
and I still don't know why
he was lying in wait
full of malice and hate
just as cool as can be
'tween the closet and me
having taken a shower
it was then the hour
for supper and so
to the closet I go
to obtain a clean shirt
what I found, though, was hurt.

A stinging, a prick,
and I look down to see
a black and gray insect
glowering at me
So I procure some paper
and get the shotgun,
for the price of his caper
I kill this small one.
One smush with the buttstock,
he crawls on away
but for this sort of backtalk
for this he will pay.
Once more it descends,
and I smear more this time
but such work he expends
to escape his vile crime
that a third stroke is called for
and this one the last
and so there on the floor
all his struggles are past.

Wiped from the ground
in the toilet now drowned
just to be certain
that this was his curtain.
his last call in life
his ultimate strife,
but though his pain is done
mine is just begun.

 

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