The Fly 2

The Fly

“A contamination.”
No further explanation.
You grew twitchy, nails brittle,
Bristles on your back.
It wasn’t all bad.
You’d always been handsome,
Now you were ripped.
Rampant!
Grabbing me at the shoulders,
Hissing Let’s breed.
Then feeding on doughnuts,
Skittles, jelly beans, Sunny D.
Skin started to suffer,
Blistered, seeping puss.
Still you wouldn’t discuss it,
Or see a doctor,
Even when limbs dropped,
And you were pickling things in jars.
Then mood swings,
Trawling bars.
I left.
Took a test (though I knew)
It turned blue.
Friends said get rid, poor genes.
I made a discreet call.
Backstreet.
No questions asked.
Just cash, gown, gas.
Then shattered glass,
Grasped in clammy hands.
Swept up like a damsel, you an ogre,
Scurrying over rooftops back to the lab.
Clutching a gun,
Spitting Our son! How could you?
You swore you weren’t trying to hurt us
You had a plan to return: a merge.
Three becoming one.
Christ you were strong.
Dragging me toward The Pods.
The final crusts of Seth Brundle falling away.
Jaw dropped like an apple core,
Dissolving into acid-bile.
Flaccid fingers giving way to feelers.
Vast microphone-like eyes.
Then in the gleam of the The Pods,
A glimpse of what you’d become.
You emitted, not a scream but a buzz,
Reared up, the vibrations shattered test tubes.
I felt a kick.
I heard a click.

Friends say I look better now I’m bigger.
Shame about your man. His job took him abroad.
I show them the scan.
And they grin Don’t they look weird.
All curled up.
Kind of looks like a big maggot.