Sadder than Pablo

The train

droned

on, close

but too far

to see. Over
treetops maybe,
close enough
to feel.

The house fly 

gestured like  

an evil genius,

hatching

doomsday plans

then bowing

his head

and praying

before drinking  

from the ring,

wet and clear-

a sweating

beer can

footprint  on

an end table

left over 

from somebody  

else's life.

A murder of 

crows cry

foul, then leap. 

A new rush

of wings, one

peels away then

lights gently

as night, on 

a chimney

gone cold,
old people
count that as
sign still.
'round here.
Death is
coming sooner
than later.

"Did you used

to know her?"

"Not anymore."

"Mmm."

The fly buzzed
away  so that
the can might
land,
and she wished
she'd
never asked.