Caught Between The Doors

He’s banged away since seven, hurling flesh
against the screen.  He circles, spins, falls down
flies up. He drills a bit, as if the sound
of his own busy-ness against the mesh
might make the bars give way. I watched him take
this same route round the screen six hours ago,
back when I let him in. I didn’t know
the opened door would trap him. His mistake
was mindless dedication to desire;
in that respect not unlike all the rest
outside pursuing their own interests.
He banged the outside bars. The inside wires
are what he’s banging now to get back out.
Go figure that. And here’s where I come in ---
--- I’m going out! --- in just a bit. By then
he might have learned what this is all about,
and made his final run at destiny,
then died upon the threshold at the base,
no more to look on any fly-some face,
nor flail at screen holes built to guarantee
that all his buzzy-ness would be for naught. 
Perhaps he’ll still be bouncing off the screen.
Though it might make a small mess there to clean
so much would be resolved if I’d just swat
him there and then. Though, then again, I might
miss and send him buzzing past my ear
into the house, to find him who knows where
or when, most likely later on that night
perched on a TV screen, and have to rouse 
myself when I would rather not. Or let 
him out, to watch him buzz off like a jet
in whoosh of air --- then I could ask him ‘How’s
it feel?’ But then, I know already how
it feels to tumble pointlessly through air
to land on god knows what, and god knows where,
to circle back a second time, avowed
that this time would be different. I guess
it wouldn’t be all bad to give him what
--- in terms of time, to open, hold and shut
the door again --- could scarcely matter less
to me. To him, the chance to recognize
once, before manure’s beckoning scent
drives him to ground again, his full extent
of wing and air, to fly how only flies 
can fly, at speed toward some objective un
specific, pointless – now there’s a point of it! 
But then, that’s more for me than him--- a bit
of wreaking compost for his final run
would be enough to animate his flight.
If I could fly like that, 
if I could fly, 
so much would be resolved. I cannot quite
wind up this business yet. I think instead
I’ll wait a while, and leave another way,
then circle back --- by then he might be dead.