New poem: Wasps

Wasps


I was swatting a wasp with my

fly swat when I heard it say,

‘Cut that out, you’re swatting

the wrong guy, I’m on your side.

I’m an undercover wasp fighting

for you.’

I said, ‘I’m not fighting anyone.’

He said, ‘Oh yes you are, look

at that swat. One swipe through

the air and BLAM! and I’m

done for. It may not look like

war to you, but it sure looks

like that to us.’

‘Us?’ I said, ‘who are you talking

about with this ‘us’? A moment ago,

you were on my side.Now it’s ‘us’.

So you’re not on my side, are you?’

‘Yes I am,’ he said, ‘but I’m still

a wasp. I think like a wasp, I

do wasp stuff.’

‘I don’t get this,’ I said, ‘I’m just

trying to stop you stinging me.’

‘What’s stinging got to do with it?’

he said,‘what is it with you people

on and on about stinging….?

...sting, sting, sting.’

‘That’s because you sting,’ I said.

‘But it’s not all we do,’ he said,

‘we’re not just stingers. We’re

wasps.’

‘Yes, yes,’ I said, ‘but you do sting,

and I’ve discovered

this way to stop you stinging:

it is what you said it was: swipe,

BLAM! That stops stinging.’

‘Yes, yes, I know,’ he said,

‘but you’re not listening to me:

I’m as much against stinging as you.’




Just then, another wasp turned up.

‘C’mon, let’s go,’ he said.

‘Sure,’ said my wasp, ‘this guy

isn’t worth the hit.’

‘What do you mean, “not

worth the hit”?’ I said, ‘what’s

the matter with me?’

But my wasp and his new pal

were off and away and I really

didn’t know where I was with all this.