Waiter there’s
A fly in my bath
That I cannot
Catch
The water
Is too warm
To get out of
The sky outside
Is like milk and mud
In the cold wind
The fly buzzes
Angrily
It attacks my head
It should
Be let out but
There are more
Ready to take
Its place
They are
Natures
Colonialists
In a world they insist
Is there’s