I keep wine in the house
To trap the fruit flies that inhabit my kitchen.
They fly toward their demise,
getting stuck beneath the film covering their baccanalian grave.

I wonder if they enter, thinking they have found heaven
Only to panic when they realize
There is no escape?
They circle the rim of the glass, seeking a gap to fly,
then drop to the liquid death below.

Do they give up and fold tiny wings?
Or do they give in
and decide to
die happy?