The Fly

The Fly
I walk into the art museum.
The first piece of artwork that struck my eye,
A surreal,
And frankly,
Painting of clocks and stopwatches,
Mountains, a face,
A tree,
All that I see,
Speaks to my heart and soul.

The clocks move fluidly throughout,
But the fly,
Catches my eye,
Sitting, or even resting,
On the largest clock in the painting.
And all I wondered,
Was if he too, would melt

As I report the one,
and favorite painting to the museum,
The manager asks,
“Are you sure that’s the one?”
And all I can do is nod my head in agreement,
And I wonder,
If I too,
Would melt.

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