A place where I'll post up some thoughts and ideas - especially on literature in education, children's literature in general, poetry, reading, writing, teaching and thoughts on current affairs.
Thursday 6 September 2018
The Drop
Wasps are dropping from the lights
in the ceiling of the kitchen. They have
forgotten flight. They fall as if they are
dead, but on the table or the floor they
crawl a little. Wasps dropping. No buzz.
Straight from the light, and down.
There is hardly a hole in the ceiling for
them to come through, but they struggle
and make it. Some crawl over the light
and their shadows loom across the room.
And then drop. Above the lights they
must be queuing. Waiting their turn to
come down. They must know it’s necessary
for them to go, and there’s no information
coming back to them to tell them that
it’s just a drop. There isn’t anything else
for them down here. Just the table or the
floor. It’s no home down here. They’re not
treated well. They get brushed out. Or
stood on. Even the crackle from under
a shoe doesn’t put off the next ones
coming through. Another one drops.
And another. And there’s a sound. If
there’s a piece of paper on the table,
when it drops on to that, it’s nearly a
tap or a clap. That could be a warning.
But it isn’t. They’re still coming.