Not a Fly Left

Not a Fly Left

(“God did what Moses asked. He got rid of the flies from Pharaoh and his servants and his people. There wasn’t a fly left. But Pharaoh became stubborn once again…” Exodus 8:31,32a [The Message])

There is no more time to wait, swatting
midges that land on my sandwich near night.
There is little room to talk, faking
human while the smoke’s aroma indicts.
There are far too few moments, flicking
mosquitoes that hide behind patio lights.
There are hardly any words, poems
opening (I swear) hidden tombs oddly white

Washed like

A clock with hands set back half a day,
a book halfway read and put away,
a plea for clemency, honest truth’s escapee
slapping the neck and scratching its false identity

Until no one believes there is life in the tomb
and the midges and mosquitoes paint the sky black

While we wait (there is not time for that) for one fact
to bubble out of the sweaty tomb, death’s admission that

Leaves the patio free for picnics and sweet iced tea
on another summer afternoon.