It's Still Life

A Window Seat at the Café

Of course I can, he’s asking if I can
eat this entire thing, a bun stuffed full
of stiff whipped cream.

He sips his coffee,
always black, always hot,
and thinks about something
that he says is nothing, when I ask.

We fall silent. He watches shoppers
pass the window. I watch a fly
on the window ledge. It’s buzzing.

On its back.
        Spinning circles.
                Dying.

I glance up and say, Have you
noticed that flies always die
with their legs straight up?

Written for Twiglet #247 “a busy window” Images are from Unsplash. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter   ©Misky 2021