Fly Food

A table laid out for a feast
With succulent forearms and thighs,
Lightly but thoroughly greased
To attract all the ravenous flies.
No neon signs needed down here,
The smell of the food will suffice,
And soon all the diners appear
To sample the free merchandise.
And when they have loosened their belts,
And buzzed away home to their brood,
I look at my red, blotchy welts
And thank God I can still provide food.