Poem : Soldier Fly / by Heather Taylor

Paths to the bin
are zig-zagged with your
relatives and your
arial trapezee stunts done at
supersonic speed
through the space between noses and
rails of backyard fences:
a cacophany of buzzing
tickling my senses.
I never liked you,
overpopulating the earth from your home in
South and North America then
pushing eastward, westward to make
homes of Europe, India, Asia and
even Australia during World War 2.
Can’t you find a resting place
only one continent wide,
make a pest of
yourself
in a land far far
away from where I’m living?

Such fantasies would rid the earth of your
talent: 15 kilograms per day of
restaurant left overs per square meter, 
a 95% reduction in the weight and volume of
this waste we need ridding of and every 100 lbs of garbage
I make, you’ll leave only 5lbs behind.
Only now I think of you as a necessity, the bug
stuck with Soldier Fly/ Stratiomyid Fly nicknames instead of
Parastratiosphecomyia stratiosphecomyioides-a full name which
has the ability to
envoke terror into even the most well-read teachers
converging upon classes with registers in hand
over pronouncing names to
maintain the highest standards
yet stumbling over your name,
illustrating their inability and
only you and they would know their misstep, both of you
ill at heart wanting to
die, the floor to suck you in
evolution to forget about your existance, clock hands
slowly ticking to class end.