Swatting Flies

Now that I've used up all my ideas

Here in my little house by the sea

I search for a usable memory but none comes to me

In grade one, my teacher could do embalming

She'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

It lay very still in its cage

And we'd feed 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 hear of locusts and plagues and the tortures they knew

And in the science room was an iguana

I remember it now in my house by the seaside

Swatting flies