I am afraid of you
and of all of those pupae
you carefully feed
under the eaves of my shed
in that honeycomb
dome you call home.
I bought two cans of spectracide
last night in town for an oil
change and hurried back.
I sprayed the stream
of poison foam from
20 feet away, pretending
I didn’t care one bit,
ready to run at the sound of your
desperate buzz. But
you never even moved. Never
abandoned even one
moment your tiny nest.
This morning I can see you
still standing vigil, frozen
in death, deaf to the
hungry and dying pupae
trapped within their toxic
cells. I tell myself
I had to do it. You
would be ruthless too
if I were ever to stumble
upon you. I must
be ruthless first. And now
your chance is gone.
The alder trees are swaying
in gentle waves of wind gust.
The leaves are backlit
and glowing in late-day sun.
I watch the shadows lengthen
over my slightly safer lawn.
Here is the actual picture from my iphone of the unfortunate subject of this sad little poem:
