As Thick as Blood

Aug 20 2011

The fly was definitely dead.

I checked

carefully.

One gossamer wing

filigreed, and iridescent

slightly bent.

The hard black body

untouched, to all intents.

The trick is

to swat just light enough,

or it’s bug guts, and blood

all over.

What surprised me was just how human it looks  —

the same ruby red, thick and glistening,

the same dull brown residue.

This annoying fly

  —  I was sure it’s the kind that bites  —

is the end of the line

of hundreds of millions of years

of survival.

All that time

becoming the perfect expression

of fly

in all its tiny complexity.

Now kaput, defunct, at rest

  —  a billion generations

dead-ended

in one distracted swat.

So I am starting to feel regret

for having killed it.

Too easy, off-hand

reflexive.

This insignificant insect

more elegant, and intricate

than anything Man has ever built,

or likely will.

The creation of a loving God

or ruthless Nature,

or whatever your belief.

But either way

a fellow creature

who also bleeds.

Over 400 million years, and counting

when we were all insects.

Distant kin, this fly and us.

But still,

the ancient ties that bind

as thick as blood.