Flies have small ears so you have to speak extra loud
They don’t have ears they pick up vibrations
Maybe it’s like, what is that?
Muriel taps two flat fingers on ledge of table and
nasally phonates dit, dit, dah-dit-
He’s picking up your vibrations in Morse Code!
Mer, flies don’t speak English
But they listen in it!
Maybe your vibrations aren’t in English
How do you know that fly is a he?
He’s not listening
And he just landed on your slice of lemon pie
Amber gasps and rushes to the counter
at the plate supporting her slice
and puts a dismal spin on the delicate dish
which sends the cool frothy sliver to the floor —
Then not a breath passes as the girls
watch the small circle progressing
in ravenous aerials eating up the counter space
as it travels and stops halfway on the ledge and halfway off
Amber snatches it with grievous grip
like she holds her life savings in a public place—
Mom would have killed you
Muriel, get the newspaper!
I’m going to slap his ears off!
Don’t do that!
Just tell him to go outside!
I’m not talking to a fly!
Hold open the door and I’ll talk to him
Loudly she speaks:
Go out fly, you don’t want to stay in here,
Amber will kill you!
Amber opens the West End apartment door-
The air outside is spiced with the aromas of autumn:
Damp dirt, burnt wood, and the smells that rise
when rainwater vaporizes,
combined with cinnamon and pumpkin
broiling with cloves on the stove-
Then a breeze like a breath sweeps the curls
of Muriel’s hair-
The fly meanderers in wide slow revolutions
and tumbles in the whirling wind.
Muriel follows behind like a stern sheepdog
and the fly swerves around Amber’s face
before disappearing into the world
Like a passing car down a distant highway-
Flies do too have ears!