Whilst I am at my morning exercises,
the limited dumbbell, the selected
Pilates, observing, through the French window,
the shimmering, ornamental grasses –
that obscure the water feature – and the odd
finch and dunnock feasting on the birch
and the lawn, a large, black, raucous fly
hits one of the panes, once, twice, thrice then stops,
becomes silent. We are all learners, most of the time.
It – in a long life I have never learned
how to sex a fly – walks with care, slowly,
across the pane, looking for an end to
such transparent nonsense.