The Fruitfly Suites

I. Chasing Fruit flies Around the House in Your Underwear

No one knows how they get in, or where they come from.
When they show up, you better do the dishes.
Better not leave any food out.
If zombies invade our cities, we can eat the fruit flies.
It will be too hazardous to trek out to the farmer’s market
For fresh squash or strawberries.
We will ka-bob their little bodies (swollen on rotten bananas
And whatever else fruit flies eat) on toothpicks,
And we will roast them over the heat of your zippo.
In the face of adversity, there is little time to be squeamish.
They have suckers on the sides of their faces.
The fast ones are tricky to kill.
When the zombies come, we will see what we are made of.


II. And We Hunted Them For Sport

You were chasing fruit flies around the house
With a rolled up paper.
You were in a white wife-beater.
Pajama pants.
No bra.
Breasts jiggling with all of the celebration
Of David ecstatic before the lord.
You were laughing
As you climbed over table and couch.
Slipped on a magazine
And fell on your butt.
No one knows where the fruit flies came from,
But we’re not having another party
Until they’re all gone.


III. All Quiet On the Western Front

The little red spots here and there on the ceiling
Stare down with tiny black irises.
There was a greens scare a year or two back,
And we stopped buying lettuce from the supermarket.
Remember when they recalled the sushi
From the store, and every week we’d check the little freezer cart
To see if they’d restocked?
There was a time when fresh produce promised only a good time
And a clear conscience.
There was a time when I would catch a spider in my hand
And release it into the backyard instead of squishing it.
You can only get bitten so many times
Before you rethink your stance on corporal punishment.
We’ll be picking their tiny bodies out of our hair for weeks.