Fly in the water

Landing there without my assistance or encouragement,
It moves its legs but the wet wings won’t lift him.

I am inclined to attempt a rescue.
Minutes before, I had attempted to murder the creature.
What had changed?
Was any of it rational?

Surely the fly had changed,
Now an object of sympathy.
Was I dealing with the hope
My “good deed” would take “wing”,
Grant me a membership in the “everlasting club”?
Perhaps the fly might join me?

Is it possible I’m having an attack of compassion?
Was this about the limits of objectivity?
By removing him from the water
I would be helping an enemy.

Not a terrorist, merely an annoyance.
If I, a very poor swimmer,
Found myself struggling in a tide
You’d bet I’d want help.

What abstraction serves
To suggest the coming of assistance?
God, Wagnerian horns, super-thing?
Probably not.

I did rescue the fly.
When its wings had dried it took flight.
Was it going to share
The good news with the congregation?

Or look to renew the insidious attack?
Should he again take the offensive
I would be in the same dilemma
But, I might decide it was time for a small silent service.