Fruit Flies
by Carol Berg
Our platoon
has invaded your
kitchen.
We are trained
in the element
of rapid decay.
We dip our
tongues
into your
browning
banana skin.
We sip
seconds from
your daffodil
petals. Rotting apple.
You retaliate
with a shot
glass of chardonnay—
slow poison
for us to
drown in.
We
skirmish
in the air space
over ripe pear.
One strike from
us begins
speeded up
ruin to taut skin.
We mate
with our
own image
in your window.
We are legion
eating
bites of life
before dying