Conquest
A fly lands on my pen this morning -
slender, small, with elegant pointed head.
He likes the smooth white shank, the blue
clicker, looks on attentively
at the scrawl spilling onto the page,
cocks his head this way, then that.
Does he miss his flock
of circling zig-zagging kin
making their air sculptures?
hello, little friend;
welcome to this pen.
Now he's on the sleeve
of my green rain jacket,
has claimed me as his empire
and likely
has shat on me, much as we
might plant a U.S. flag on distant Mars,
thinking that our marking of a planet
makes it ours.
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