of the Flies,
a Different Version
You said it. Yes, you said it. Rise and clap!
My eyes were burning then. Oh how you laughed!
“A younger model.” What was all this crap?
No wrinkles and no sags: I got the shaft.
“I really want a set of them.” Of what?
“Of Miss Americas”. Yes, I have eyes.
They’re fresh and pretty. What am I, your slut?
I bite my tongue in tears. How I’ve grown wise!
That night I had a dream. Now I was dead:
Alive, yet rotting carrion; and you?
Five hundred glittering eyes climbed over me,
And fed: an insect, mandibles wet, red;
In every eye a woman: perfect, new.
You’d gorged, then clambered past my dried husk free.
If you have any comments on this poem, Anissa Gage would be pleased to hear from you.