Fly in the Wine

Quite a few summers have passed since I wrote this poem. I still get annoyed when a fly lands in my wine. Many other things have changed since then.

Honeysuckle blossom

Fly in the Wine
 
He doesn’t believe me 
but a fly in the wine changes it –   
the smell, the taste;
Of course, the allure. 
Air-lifting it out doesn’t help either. 

He doesn’t believe me, 
but I don’t care. 
I drain and refill anyway, 
which makes him shake his head,
makes him panic;
makes him question 
my dedication to sustainability. 

It makes me feel resilient,
this fresh pour; 
makes me feel sweet and unbent, 
translucent and lucid; 
makes me think that 
a drunk fly, a sad sigh,
and a mile away
are maybe all the same.


-06.2011