A simple recipe for dodging flies
in the heat at a barbecue spot
is as simple as the clear shine
of water zipped away in plastic
hanging around the ceiling’s periphery
in a dining room like ornaments
or omens. Flies drive themselves to delirium
with the sparkle differing from diamonds
and catch their last by swaying freezer bags.
A shimmer stuns the multiple views
in a fly’s eyes and misdirects their iridescent wings,
christened from maggots and scat,
until they stutter and bump, and find their legs
clustered like gathered stems of bouquets,
on their backs and dried out
like empty green bottles on window sills
before being swept into the trash, a heaven of sorts.
Copyright © 2026 by Tara Betts. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on February 4, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.
