Kenneth C. Steven
Wasps
That August the wasps invaded
Like a gang of bikers.
In their yellow and black jackets
They drizzled the air, zoomed round corners.
In the endless hot blue afternoons
They crawled into jam and across plates,
Bashed windows and went at full throttle
Around caf6s and swarms of tourists.
Until one day the skies turned orange
And the air hung in misty curtains
Heavy and hot as wool. Very far away
Thunder prowled about the hills like bears.
A gull sailed away making a sound
Like an old bicycle wheel; a bit of lightning
Squirmed above the woods, and suddenly,
Rain began falling in great grapes.
Next morning the wasps were dead;
Outside shops and hotels their crisp hulls lay
Like curled leaves. They blew away
Through the lanes, were washed into wet September ditches.
Page(s) 39
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