Trivially Forlorn
On the bus
today
the girl in
front of me
picked a fly
from the window.
She grabbed
it by a wing
and it was
gone.
I still don’t
understand
the sadness
that took me
in that
moment,
But
something of futility
haunts my
mind:
The fly,
most likely left
broken somewhere
on the dirty
floor
continues
its course,
traveling
in tomb,
a stilled-rushing
paradox of sorts,
Passengers unaware
of its trivial
death
and perhaps more
somber,
its life.