The Bluebottle Fly
is a scavenger with wings
partial to dog faeces, dead animals and dustbins.
It regurgitates and shits
wherever it sits
and thereby mechanically transmits
infectious organisms. It
can carry cholera, salmonella, dysentery, leprosy;
whatever revolting diseases
it pleases.

It’s a hot afternoon
in June
and at Barry’s annual barbecue
it looks like I’m going to share my rashers
with squadrons of these vile little gate-crashers

Here I stand
warm beer in hand
eyes stinging in the charcoal smoke
wondering if it’s too much to ask
for a gas mask.Barry licks his lips and says, ‘This is nice,’
clicking a pair of tongs
like the jaws of some medieval torture device.
‘Indeed,’ I lie.A fly
lands lazily on Barry’s tongs,
craps, vomits and moves on.
A long
trestle table displays the fare:
a vegetarian’s nightmare
of sausages, burgers, chicken joints, steaks,
pork chops, lamb kebabs
arrayed in slabs
like some suburban meat emporium,
all doomed to the fire
of Barry’s pop-up crematorium.
It’s thirty degrees, and the lunch I desire
Is a chilled gazpacho
and a cold Pinot Grigio.
But what I’ll get instead
are sizzling lumps of meat in bread.

On any other day
The closest Barry comes to cooking
Is sneaking beer from the fridge
when his wife’s not looking
But today he’s promoted himself
way beyond his expertise
and is trying to please
twenty drunk and hungry guests
Outdoors, while as pissed as the rest.

Barry coughs long and loud
invisibly from inside a cloud
of smoke drifting high
into the sky
like the aftermath
of a missile strike.
He burns the meat black
on his pop-up funeral pyre.
The flies jump
from uncooked flesh to charred lumps
in a germ-spreading procedure whose efficacy
would impress the Wuhan Institute of Virology.

Later the rain, inevitably, pours
and we all head indoors
for miniature apple pies.
We’re followed by the flies
Perhaps they’ll pause at the cat litter tray
for refreshments along the way.

Is barbecue
spelt with a c or a q?
If it’s a q it should be pronounced barbeck,
as in cheque or discotheque.
But what the feck.
Anywise
Barbecues, I realise,
are for flies.