Cruelty.

On a gritty bathroom floor
I spot a busted fly.
Wings crumpled,
like egg cartons and
legs broken,
like slum street windows.

I watch it
a moment longer
as it twitches
and life sputters
like the engine
of a 1994 Toyota Previa.

I stand,
button my pants,
and leave it
to sputter some more
on a gritty bathroom floor.