VINCENT CASAREGOLA

FLY ON THE WALL

They envy me, or so it seems . . . I wish

I’d been the fly on the wall, they say,

but what do they know of us, flies that is,

or even of walls, come to speak of it.

Do they really think their secrets

worth hording away in some insect mind,

and do they think we’d waste our time

surveilling their agony or pathos?

We witness all despite ourselves,

trying to rest from constant pursuit or from

the fear of being pursued—but rest, no,

rest comes only rarely in their agitated rooms.

Still, how dull become the angry gestures,

the histrionic performances, alone

or in pairs or in small groups, all divided by

my multifaceted eye, like a split-screen film.

And we do not so much hear as

sense their rough or plaintive voices

as vibrations that ripple our bodies,

scratching the smooth surface of our wings.

Even in darkness, though, we can scent

their sweaty passions, desire of the moment,

fear of an uncertain dawn, chemicals floating

on the night air, telling stories despite them.

No joy in this for our poor species,

for even were we empowered to know

and then to judge their wingless flights,

they’d kill us still for knowing them.

Vincent Casaregola teaches American literature and film, creative writing, and rhetorical studies at Saint Louis University. He has published poetry in a number of journals, as well as creative nonfiction, short fiction, and flash fiction. He has recently completed a book-length manuscript of poetry dealing with issues of medicine, illness, and loss (Vital Signs) for which he is seeking a publisher.