Swatting Flies

Now
That
I’ve used up all my ideas
Here in
My little house by the sea
I search for a usable memory
But none comes to me
In grade one
My teacher could do embalming
She’d stuff
The bodies of dead little birds
She told us, If ever we found one
Just to bring it to her
And in the science room was an iguana
It lay very still
In its cage
And we’d feed him
Living flies
Then she’d
Read the old testament to us
But first she’d
Remind us the stories were true
And we’d hear of locusts and plagues
And the tortures they knew
And in the science room was an iguana
I remember now
In my house
By the seaside
Swatting flies