The Flies. By Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

I see you half asleep.

The flies are hovering

over your untouched

drink, and if they take

a dip they will join you

in your intoxicated dream.

I see you had enough.

You did not drink it all.

The flies are thirsty for

what you left for them.

There is no food, not one

crumb in your liquid diet.

The music is blaring,

some heavy metal and

fast paced drumming.

The flies are dizzy, some

got in an out, those that
took the plunge have died.

Luis was born in Mexico, lives in California, and works in the mental health 

field in Los Angeles, CA. His poems have appeared in Ariel Chart, Beatnik Cowboy,

Dope Fiend Daily, Unlikely Stories, and Zygote In My Coffee.