JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

Returning home

from a Bulgarian vacation

I notice a fly (Bulgarian no doubt)

buzzing around the aircraft

unaware

his approaching release

in a strange new land

far from friends and family

where local flies may not understand

his accent and food fragments

thrown on garbage may not

have that familiar flavor

of yoghurt on pork

 

In the car after paying

the usual parking overcharge

I breathe in humidity as

someone honks behind

impatient

in peak hour traffic.

I count the cars

calculate

it may take hours

to get home

 

We turn on the radio

another rape,

a road accident,

some new unsavory scandal

concerning the government

 

A fly, fresh from his

dog-droppings roost

zips through the open window

I shoo him out

he won’t go

wants to return

home with us

seems to be saying

something

in international fly language

 

It sounds like Yiddish

I understand him perfectly