Randy Weeks

Published on July 22nd, 2020 | by Randy Weeks


The View From The Balcony: “Pester Me No More!”

(from the pen of the Sundown Cowboy, self-proclaimed Poet Lariat of The Balcony)

I felt you on my left tricep
during my morning walk―
scratching, stinging, sucking,
biting, piercing, gnawing―
doing whatever parasites such as you
do on sweaty human flesh.

Dear Mother-Father-Grandparent Fly,
pester me no more!

I looked but could not see you.
I hoped that maybe―
just maybe you were gone.
No such luck.
You kept doing your best to bug me
and you were damn good at it, too!

Dear Brother-Sister-Cousin Fly,
pester me no more!

I swatted you away
and you came right back.
I swatted again
and you moved to my right tricep,
then to my left shoulder blade,
then back to my right tricep.

Dear Priest-Bodhisattva-Guru Fly,
pester me no more!

I swatted up; I swatted down.
I swatted left; I swatted right.
Observers would have laughed
or thought me psychotic.
I swatted with my water bottle.
Only the fleck of a foot remained.

Dear Rabbi-Shaman-Imam Fly,
pester me no more!

But I could still feel you.
You remained on my body
everywhere you’d lit.
Such a determined little varmit―
a pest among pests.
But the Great Fly Swatter prevailed,
then left the Killing Path.

Dear Stranger-Friend-Itinerant Fly,
pester me no more!

In Zen, I wondered,
“Were you the same fly that hounded me
for three days and nights in my home?
Did I not capture you and set you free?
Did I not release you into the wild?
And this is how you would repay me?”

Dear Rich-Poor-Middleclass Fly,
pester me no more!

“Why did you plague me so?
Now you are dead.
Were you trying to tell me something?
Were you a messenger from afar,
vainly saying, ‘Wake up!
Something important’s happening here!’”

Dear Red-Yellow-Black-White Fly,
pester me no more!

When I returned to the Killing Path,
for such is my route,
another vermin took up the task.
“What is the length of a fly’s life?” I wondered.
“Is this the offspring of the first,
or the first, resurrected―reincarnated?”

Dear Gay-Straight-Transgender Fly,
pester me no more!

Nearing home my thoughts turned
to the many times,
irritated with some small thing,
some pesky-peeving person,
I had selfishly shooed them away.
What treasures might I have missed?

Dear Persistent-Dogged-Relentless Fly,
I see now you will not let me be!
You extorted my attention,
receive now my intention.

Dear Unshakable-Steadfast-Fearless Fly!
Come push me.
Come teach me.
Come pester me―

…and that’s the View from The Balcony

The View From The Balcony: "Preaching to Chickens"
The View From The Balcony: "Interview with a Statue" by Randy Weeks

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About the Author

Randy Weeks is a Licensed Professional Counselor, a Certified Shamanic Life Coach, an ordained minister, a singer-songwriter, and an actor, who lives in Oxford, Mississippi. He may be reached at randallsweeks@gmail.com.

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