Fruit Flies

He hates them.
Every summer it creeps up on him—
somewhere in the kitchen a tomato slumps with sick-wine rot
under the drainboard, a celery leaf slowly dissolves
and here they come, one or two
then clouds.

He hates them.
He’s heard they drink from the corners of people’s eyes
and spread parasitic worms that burrow into your eyeballs.
He lies awake at night
imagining them
floating up the stairs in a swarm shaped like a giant spermatozoon.
He sleepwalks to the cupboard
where the Raid is kept.

He considers himself eco-conscious, health-friendly because
he has a bag of sour apple or peach fruit rings he’s willing to share
while the smell of insecticide dissipates throughout the house.
He told all his friends why the spray was necessary
and can’t understand why none of them
will eat.

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside