I was throwing some wine back when I noticed a small fly of sorts
at the bottom of my glass.
I saw it slowly move its tiny legs and immediately
my heart began to fill with empathy, so naturally
I decided I would save it.
Since I sat pen-in-hand, I dipped the fine tip of my black sharpie
in the deep red and urged the fly to take hold of it,
the act transforming my pen into a
literary lifesaver any writer would appreciate.
Thankfully the fly seemed to cooperate
as it clung to my writing instrument
allowing me to rescue it from the booze and place it
down on the balcony floor.
I laughed a little then
noticing how disoriented my friend seemed
as it stumbled around, getting perilously close to
falling through the cracks with each step it took.
“Maybe this fly has a death wish I know nothing about,” I thought.
Feeling good about my gracious deed
I wiped the Monastrell off the pen
and tried to write again
but to my dismay-
my pen was dead.
I guess it just goes to show that in the end
you can’t save everything.
Today the fly won.
A.P. Bastian 