My natural point-of-view, when crafting prose,
is somewhat like a fly upon the wall
inside a place where characters I chose
are interacting normally with all
the room’s inhabitants. I seek no big
catastrophe or comic interlude –
I want to catch the small and maybe dig
at why or how communication skewed.
A watcher who disdains to interfere,
I’d be a bug, except a fly won’t spy
or eavesdrop (can an insect see or hear
enough?) The metaphor is wrong – I’ll try
another, maybe noticed – what the fuck –
I’ll be a gecko and I’ll tender luck.