Theres a Fly In My Soup

As I sit and try to imagine, I look and find another distraction, find there's a fly in my poetry soup, quite like a Michael Phelps swimming laps around like an Olympian champion, he must think he's pretty cool using my bowl of soup like a swimming pool, as I disdainfully sit here and watch him while drinking my glass of coke, he swims figure 8's and alternates between freestyle and the backstroke, once again I try to think of a poem verse as the fly swims and winks at me, what nerve! then he slows down and does the doggie paddle looking like he's treading the soup waters for awhile, finally he stops and looks mercifully at me, and as he goes under I count to three, the fly in my soup is finally gone, once again I can concentrate and carry on.