Poet's
Corner
By Ron Crowe
IPS Features

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IPS Features Staff

International Press Service

TO MY FIRST HOUSEFLY OF THE NEW YEAR

      (Fairbanks, Alaska, 1974)

With her "Let's still be friends" echoing

too long after I put down the phone,

I threw myself into thumping last year's dust,

which ultimately awakened you to warm air,

and woozy, you thought, no doubt, SPRING

is here at last, and into wobbling orbit

around the stove's oasis you buzzed,

happy as an outhouse fly in August.

Your wingsong shook loose a headful

of lazytime echoes from summers past,

which gained you respite for reputed crimes

that in warmer times would have brought

down the swatter sans merci--but

in January your solo cheered: harbinger

of green leaves and all-day sunshine--good fairy

with a message. I would have put out food

and water had you needed such kindnesses. No

way to tell you your internal clock was whacked.

Instead, like the graying romantic briefly awakened

to foolishness, you flew high, frenzied flight

that could not last. This morning in the dishpan

you floated, face down and bloated.