"There are flies on you, and flies on me, but there ain't no flies on Jesus."

giphy.com

I am the ideal morning coffee companion. I sit, uncomplaining,
across the table, with half a cup of coffee, reading the newspapers,
not interfering with Mari's conversation with herself, even though she keeps trying to drag me into an exchange.
Sometimes I wonder how she came to be so lucky. I don't mess with good fortune.

She mutters when she cannot find words to express what she feels.
This morning, though, she said something that caught my attention.
I detected just a little anger at something. "God knows what that could be!"
I thought.

It wasn't that.
It was this.

"That fly always lands on the arm that holds the fly swatter!", she said.

I could not think
of anything to say.
I thought only of what
Donald Trump says
when he reads
what someone wrote
for him to read
that he has not read
before.

"So true!" he says.
"Nobody knew
how difficult it is
to swat flies.
So very true."

It brought to mind an old gospel song about flies.
Nobody knows how frustrating it is to be mortal. So true.

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