John Doe
The chase after door was ajar.
From window to window, that far.
The buzz in my ear,
The fly needs to fear.
The whiz of my swatter on par.
“I’m hit,” says the fly, out of steam.
Is it truly dead or a scheme?
Over and over…
its eyes ice over.
I suck up the fly with air stream.
Dear Dad, you’ll be happy to know
the fly you let in, had to go
The show he put on -
Its buzz, it is gone.
It's buried in the bag - a John Doe.
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