The Gorgeous Things on Which We Prey

I alight on your food, rub hands with glee
expect you to swat me, my crass brown body,
thin wings take me away rapidly, quick as
an eyelash closes, you can only dream of catching
me with that paper, and for what? To satisfy yourself
one dead body cannot spread germs, that you’ve
prevented infection for all of a minute, until my cousin
arrives and you’re flapping again, screaming ‘Die!’

If I can help you here: germs are part of the world,
the gorgeous things on which we prey, and spread,
if we don’t, we will drop dead, and if we do you
humans will chase us, horse tails lash us too,
we are hated for being so dirty, but trust me,
you are unclean also, hence I am here,
attracted by your filth, your unclean outlook,
your failure to wipe down the tops after cooking,

and whose fault, may I ask, is that?