Fruit Flies

I watch the winged
drown in the cider
trap

feel
a tinge
sorry

for their floating bodies
no longer flitting
annoying gnats
helicoptering the tomatoes
the pears
the compost bucket.

I rationalize that
their last moments were
at least
debauched
for flies.

Then I reflect on
the soldiers
drowning in mud
swatted from this planet
wilfully
so I might eat this fruit
in freedom.