# Stabbing at the air.
Stabbing at the air
flailing wildly
an undertone of desperation
struggling against gravity,
entropy, and the discharge
of electrons,
such were the last moments
of the drone.
Far below, she sits sipping
the cafe latte, double shot, no foam
pondering
how to cover the bills
and the emptiness
now that it was over and done.
Lost in her worries,
oblivious to the fly pacing her spoon,
much less to what plunges from above.
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