Whap!

But I missed clapping 
the fly right over
my soup, adding him

to the minestrone, his
death and mine mere
inches from the surface,

life’s zuppa fateaglia –
stewed fate and beans,
its mélange of garlic

and curled fingertelli
pasta beckoning,
calling me spoonwards,

scent of fresh basil, all
giving both the fly and me
reasons to let it be.

For Shay’s Word Garden

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