Bathroom fruit fly buzzes
through the cracked door,
lazy up zig, zagging down
out again to the bedroom.

A magnet vibrating
over scratched wood
toward the orchid
struggling at a slant.

Blotches spread
across the pot,
pod by pod withers—
tight inch-long almonds.

If you lose the pods,
leaves might grow a little longer
but the epidendrum is doomed.

Skittish fruit fly settles,
dainty stardust in mote,
spying jungle soil
in Virginia summer.


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