Swatting Flies

Now that I've used up all my ideas

Here in my little house by the sea

I search for a useable memory, but none comes to me...

In grade one, my teacher could do embalmingShe'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

Who lay, very still, in his cageAnd we'd fed 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 here of locusts, and plagues, and the tortures they'd do

And in the science room was an iguana

I remember now...in my house

By the seaside

Swatting flies