That Dirty Old Fly

It could test an elephant’s patience,
Move a sloth from its tree
Or buckle a train wheel,

It’s like counting old scars,
Dictating bad news
Or burning a daydream,

And I feel like that dirty old fly
In that filthy hotel room,
Butting my head against the window,
One,
Two,
Three times.

It’s a cyclical world,

I lie on the paving stones
Groaning.

Poetry.net