The Death of a Fruitfly

I might have let him go
If he’d evaded me one more time
But he didn’t
My hand clasped tightly at the the air around him
When I opened it he was there
I saw him crawl, a few fast millimeters
I clamped my fist shut again
My parents taught me never to kill anything
And I still feel guilt
Like someone up there saw me do it, and noted it down
In some notebook of my misdeeds
Jiminy Cricket, or the Angels and Saints – I don’t know who
I killed it anyway

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