The Death Of A Fly in  General   

There was once a man who disguised himself as a
housefly and went about the neighborhood depositing
flyspecks.
Well, he has to do something hasn't he? said someone to
someone else.
Of course, said someone else back to someone.
Then what's all the fuss? said someone to someone else.
Who's fussing? I'm just saying that if he doesn't get off the
wall of that building the police will have to shoot him off.
Oh that, of course, there's nothing so engaging as a dead
fly.
I love dead flies, the way they remind me of individuals
who have met their fate . . .

By Russell Edson

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Other poems by Russell Edson:

• A Historical Breakfast
• A Journey Through The Moonlight
• A Performance At Hog Theater
• Accidents
• Angels
• Antimatter
• Ape
• Ape And Coffee
• Conjugal
• Counting Sheep
• Elephant Dormitory
• Erasing Amyloo
• Grass
• Hands
• Mr. Brain
• On The Eating Of Mice
• One Lonely Afternoon
• Paying The Captain
• Sleep
• Soup Song
• The Alfresco Moment
• The Autopsy
• The Breast
• The Bridge
• The Changeling
• The Closet
• The Death Of A Fly
• The Fall
• The Family Monkey
• The Father Of Toads
• The Fight
• The Floor
• The Gentlemen In The Meadow
• The Having To Love Something Else
• The Lighted Window
• The Man Rock
• The Marionettes Of Distant Masters
• The Melting
• The Ox
• The Pattern
• The Philosophers
• The Pilot
• The Position
• The Reason Why The Closet-Man Is Never Sad
• The Road
• The Sad Message
• The Theory
• The Toy-Maker
• The Tree
• The Wounded Breakfast
• Vomit
• You