Fly on the Windshield
While driving my Camry,
a fly suddenly lands on my windshield,
quickly getting blown away.
I imagined how it would look dead,
and then alive.
Thrown in front of the bus,
his body squished; his blood a splash.
His organs flew with his legs
across the street; his wings severed,
no longer worthy for flight.
He slides down the windshield,
trying to break free,
but couldn’t escape the wipers.
This would be a quick death for the writer,
if he wasn’t a coward,
afraid to address himself
to the world.