greasy fly

greasy fly

The hedge still there, I expect the letter long ago came to light.

it was that childhood
Houdini act, when all
hope lost i took
the teacher’s letter
and stuffed it into
the hedge after
stepping off the
bottom step
of the bus.

the whole thing
came later back to
haunt me, spurred
in endless summer
of clouds like yachts
in aerial races and
blue morning tides,
by a fly that bit the
corner of my mouth
one afternoon

overstepping the
night into dream,
the greedy fly
of guilt, the winged
greasy fly,
an eye like
dark blue enamel
with a slot to post
a letter in, my
teacher’s hand
popping it into
that gap, for this
foul postman to
ferry it into
my parent’s
all hope

21 august 2020

Copyright © 2020 Peter Le Baige. All Rights Reserved.  Acknowledgements to the blogsite of the Given Words competition for National Poetry Day, where this poem was first posted as one of their selection of entries for 2020 National Poetry Day.

The music is from the first movement (Tempo Di Ciaccona) of Béla Bartók’s Solo Violin Sonata, as recorded in a live performance here by violinist Gidon Kremer.

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