The fruit flies are piled mercilessly
on top of each other in the vial. Anesthetized, out cold for examination.
Existing only to continue their existence,
flying jaggedly from wall to wall, desperate. They live and die,
eat what is provided, and
perform behind the plastic
for the larger creatures.
Their ultimate fate is to drown in acid,
“Discarded,” as the directions so eloquently state. They were purchased for
reproduction. Then they will be disposed of.

How different we must be.

We exist to do more than live in a microcosmic
environment based around sex and panic.
Rushing past each other through crowds,
knowing how direly important it is to
find a spouse, birth children, and
earn money so we may provide for
the aforementioned people we love – our love,
based on attraction
and the tangible.
Others are watching,
waiting for us to make a mistake. We die with so much more dignity – buried in the soil, decomposing, becoming food
for the worms we look down upon.

How much less our lives must matter
when we're smaller than something else.