Late summer in the pho diner,
I sit beneath the air conditioner
playing with my hair,
twisting it around one finger
and letting it go.
A fly lands on my table:
an astronaut walking
the white moon of my plate,
a man in a tuxedo
rubbing his hands before dinner,
an alien who has traveled
too far to explain himself.
He circles a drop of golden broth,
stops beside a torn basil leaf,
looks at me with whatever
a fly has for a face.
The window burns white
with the afternoon.
I twist my hair around my finger.
The fly lifts off across the restaurant—
pilot and craft
brave enough to leave Earth.
About the Author: Jacob Friesenhahn is the author of the poetry collection The Prayer of the Mantis (Kelsay Books, 2025). This poem appears here for the first time.